life with anyone else but you.” We completed each other so well. I was the CEO of the Duffy household—in charge of all day-to-day operations—and he was the Chairman of the Board—in charge of finances, and together, we made large decisions. Would he be okay not having a son? Not having that little boy to bond with, play catch with or take to Cubs games.
I turned towards him and leaned in closer.
“So, it looks like you and Charlie, our pup, are desperately outnumbered,” I said jokingly.
And then I said, “But seriously, are you okay with us not having a son?”
He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “Why do I need a boy? Abby encompasses anything I could have ever imagined my child to be—she adores me and shares so many of my interests—soccer, Star Wars, Cinnamon Toast Crunch… Girls can do anything boys can do, and honestly, I’m honored that I get to raise her and instill that confidence and belief in her and our other daughters.”
I fell in love with him all over again.
We came up with the girls’ names together, well half of them anyway. We had both always loved Katherine for its traditional and royal sound, and we would call her Katie for short. It was derived from the Greek word Hekateros, which means “each of the two.” Fitting for a twin. Her middle name would be Maria, after my mom. For Baby B, we thought long and hard as to what would go with Katherine. We loved the names Olivia, Emily, and Michelle—my middle name, and a family name from my side. But ultimately, while chatting with my aunt Michelle one day, who was pregnant with her third little boy, she confided in me that, if she had had a girl, she would have named her Lauren Elizabeth. I fell in love with the name immediately. And then just like Rachel took Monica‘s baby girl name on Friends, I took Michelle‘s. I asked her if it was okay, to which she replied, “Of course.” With that, it was settled. Our twin girls would be Katherine Maria and Lauren Elizabeth.
That happy day seemed so far away. I blinked and shook my head, trying to regain focus, and saw that Dr. Miller had leaned in closer to Ed.
“A year ago, I would have done this procedure immediately. But they’ve been doing some experimenting with a drug called Nifedipine to bolster the recipient baby‘s heart. Taking this medication for twenty-four hours before the surgery will increase Baby A‘s chances of survival.”
My head was still spinning. I only heard half the words he spoke. I was doing everything in my power to try to keep it together. I didn’t want to toss furniture, and I didn’t want to break down and cry in the room either. At the least, sobbing would have distracted me from getting all the necessary information. While I knew I could count on Ed—who was frantically taking notes and no doubt would remember every detail—I wanted to listen closely for myself to make the best possible decision for my girls. I couldn’t mess this up. I had to be strong for my girls. This thought calmed me and infused me with a tinge of courage.
“Okay, so you think the best course of action is to get Crystal started on this heart medication and then do the surgery the next day?” asked Ed.
“Yes,” Dr. Miller said, nodding. “I do, I think it is our best shot at beating this thing.”
“What exactly does the surgery entail?” Ed asked.
“We will put Crystal completely under and basically take a laser in utero and cut all the blood vessels connecting the girls to each other. This will separate the placentas so that each baby is in her own placental sac. Right now, they are sharing a placenta, which—as you guys know—is what caused this problem.
Wait a sec, Jedi master, I thought. What is this, The Empire Strikes Back? You want to laser inside me? That‘s insane. The girls were created from one egg splitting. They were intended to share a placenta. Won’t trying to create two placentas harm the girls?
But I was unable to vocalize my concerns. As he continued to describe the surgery, I kept imagining my girls—so vulnerable, being operated on before they even entered the world. What a way to start a life. Ed and Dr. Miller proceeded to discuss the details of the surgery. It was all getting too intense. I wanted to wipe the sweat off my face and blow my nose. I quickly scanned the room and spotted one lone box of tissues on the side table next to the whiteboard with all the Expo markers. There was no point in trying to reach for it because it was so far. Who put only one damned box of tissues in the conference room of doom where a stream of bad news had been given to other parents in our situation? I could have tried to signal Ed to pass it to me, but he was in the middle of a serious discussion with Dr. Miller, and I didn’t want to interrupt.
Dr. Miller made eye contact with me. It felt like a college professor had just caught me talking to a friend instead of paying attention during a lecture.
“We will also drain the excess fluid which has made you feel bloated. This may make you feel lighter and more comfortable,” he paused and smiled gently.
“We also need to talk about our plan if it looks like one baby isn’t going to make it,” he said. “If one baby dies, usually the other will too…unless we intervene. So, we have the option of tying off the umbilical cord of the dying baby to try and save the other, a process called umbilical cord occlusion.”
Holy shit! How had things come to this? I couldn’t take it anymore. I sprang up from my chair and made a beeline to the bathroom. As I sprinted out the door, I heard his voice trail off.
“I’m so sorry, I know this is incredibly difficult. I’ll give you and Crystal a few minutes to process this information.”
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror with tears streaming down my cheeks. This is a choice I can’t make. Selective termination? How could we ever choose to save one baby over the other?
It reminded me of Sophie‘s Choice, the William Styron novel I’d read years earlier in college. It was during World War II, Sophie, the protagonist, had just arrived at Auschwitz concentration camp with her ten-year-old son and seven-year-old daughter when a sadistic Nazi told her that she could only bring one of her children. One would be killed so the other could live. She was forced to choose, and now Ed and I were being forced to choose. Or at least be open to that option.
I’m not doing this. There is no way! I told my reflection. We are not having this conversation.
I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face and neck. I mopped off my face with a paper towel, took a deep breath and left the bathroom. I opened the door of the conference room of doom. Dr. Miller wasn’t there, and Ed rushed over to me.
“You okay?” He placed his hand on my back.
“No! I just can’t,” I screamed.
“How can we just give up on one of our babies?” My eyes filled with tears. “How could we live with ourselves, Ed?”
“Yes, but how could we live with ourselves if both babies died and we could’ve saved one?”
I already knew what it was like to lose an unborn child—and I couldn’t bear the thought of it happening again.
“Well, let‘s just hope it never comes to that,” I said. “I have my answer.”
The door creaked open and Dr. Miller walked back in.
“I’m so sorry, guys. I know how scary this is. Hell, I try to put myself in your position and think about what I would do.” He smiled. “I’m used to delivering this kind of news to couples on a daily basis, and it never gets easier. Anything I can answer or go over with you? You can take the evening and think about this decision you have to make. I’ll follow up with you first thing in the morning when you check-in for pre-op.”
Neither one of us spoke a word. Ed shook his head, indicating we understood.
“Crystal, don’t forget to pick up your prescription,” he said, tearing off the small sheet with his scribbled signature and handing it to me.
“The