“Okay, here we are,” I say as I carefully place Katie into the high-back bucket swing, sliding her legs into each side. I pick up Lauren and place her in the swing next to her sister and then take a step back, giving them each a big push at the same time. I run to get in front of them and keep pushing. “Higher, higher Mama,” Lauren says. She‘s smiling and giggling with Katie, who‘s laughing so hard. “I want to swing with my sisters too, Mommy,” Abby says as she runs towards us. “Come here, sweet girl,” I say as I pick her up and help her get balanced in her big kid swing. They are soaring high, shoes pointed up towards the sky, a slight breeze blowing their little ringlets. “Mommy can we go get ice cream after this, please?” Abby asks sweetly. “I scweem!” Katie says as she claps her hands. Lauren‘s face lights up with excitement. “Yes, my loves,” I tell them. “We can.”
To most people, a week of bedrest could seem like an eternity, but because I dreaded the check-in date so much, the days flew by. I spent as much time with Abby as I could—filling our days with music, books, art projects and lots of laughter. I tried hard to mentally and emotionally prepare myself for the weeks ahead. How should I pack for a long-term hospital stay? What would I do alone all day? How would I keep myself entertained? How could I be separated from Abby for that long? That would be the most heartbreaking part. One way to escape would be to sleep through it, but I knew sleeping all the time would depress me. With each passing day, my anxiety intensified. Were the girls okay? What if their cords were entangled already? What if they keep entangling more? I hoped I’d feel better once I was in the hospital and being monitored often.
After putting Abby down for her nap, I plopped down on the couch and opened up my laptop. I Googled “inpatient pregnant moms.” A ton of hits popped up, some more helpful than others. I read stories about other moms’ experiences—many of them emphasized the importance of having a plan. One mommy blog suggested decorating my nursery online—purchasing everything I needed, then hiring a professional organizer to set it up for me when I got home. Or they suggested starting a project. I could learn to crochet beautiful blankets and scarves just like my mom; I wished I’d taken the time to learn when she had tried to teach me in the past. I could make a list of all the starter materials I needed from the craft store, and then have Ed pick them up for me. Hmm… Nothing really grabbed my attention. I needed to give it some more thought. I closed the computer screen and set it down beside me, then grabbed a pen and paper and starting making a list.
Packing list for hospital stay:
•Comfy t-shirts
•Shorts
•Pants
•Pajamas
•Toiletries
•Make-up
•Blow dryer and flat iron
•Pair of slippers
•Flip flops
•Snacks and drinks
•Pleasure reading books
•DVD player and DVDs
For the next couple of days, I kept adding to the list, and it quickly grew to be more than just words on paper; it represented my life—my survival plan—for the next few weeks. I started adding not only daily necessities, but tangible items that would sustain me and remind me of our home. They were reminders of my existence outside the hospital—items I would find comforting.
•Pictures of Ed and Abby
•Countdown calendar
I read in some mommy blogs that a countdown calendar was crucial for mothers during an inpatient hospital stay. It would not only serve as décor on the bare white hospital walls, but become a meaningful ritual each day, marking the passage of time. Crossing off each day of a hospital stay marked a huge accomplishment. Each day enabled my babies to keep cooking. Each day meant less time in the NICU.
I added another item to my list that would make my hospital room homier, if that was even possible:
•Living room lamp
One night before bed, Ed grabbed my list off the bedside table. He shot me an incredulous look and said, “You’re not seriously taking our living room lamp with you.”
“You better believe I am,” I replied. “Do you think I want to have only fluorescent lighting? The lamp will bring some life into the room and help me feel more at home. It‘s going,” I asserted.
He read the rest of the list aloud: “Egg crate foam mattress, sheets, down comforter… Good Lord! Are you planning on permanently moving in? Want me to help you move the couch, too?”
“We don’t know how long I’ll be there, so I just want to make sure I’m comfortable.”
“Okay, but why an egg crate foam mattress? I’m assuming they’ll give you a bed, or is it BYOB—bring your own bed?”
I laughed and then explained.
“The hospital mattress is so firm that it’ll hurt my back. I need to maximize the rest part of bedrest. If I don’t manage to get some sleep, who knows…our babies might make an early appearance. And we definitely don’t want that. So the egg crate foam mattress goes, too.”
“Shower chair…I’m not even going to ask.”
“Yup, that‘s right. I need that so I don’t fall stepping into the shower. This ain’t the Ritz. No walk-in showers were I’m going.”
I knew there would be no shortage of staff and nurses around if I did need anything. At least that was comforting.
I put down the pen, set my list aside and rubbed my eyes.
“I can’t believe I check in tomorrow. This week flew by. My parents will be here in the morning.”
I’m not sure what we would have done if we didn’t have family nearby. My parents offered to keep Abby during the week since Ed put in long hours at his firm. On Friday afternoons, he would drive to their place in the suburbs and pick her up so they could have the weekend together. We had planned that Ed would spend two nights at the hospital during the week. He would bring me dinner from the outside world, which would, no doubt, be an improvement over hospital fare. We would watch TV and hang out. It would give me something to look forward to as I would have fewer visitors during the week than on weekends. I knew I would look forward to the weekends the most—Ed and Abby would spend the days with me.
“I already miss my sweet girl.” I was thinking it, and the words just slipped out.
“It’ll go quickly. You’ll see.”
“Easy for you to say. You won’t be on lockdown. I feel like Piper from Orange is the New Black.”
Chapter 7
Leaving One Child to Save Others
On the day I was scheduled to check-in to the hospital, I woke moments before my alarm was set to go off. I felt large and swollen, but snug, under my soft jersey cotton sheets and fluffy down comforter. Maybe, I thought, if I hide under the covers, no one will find me, and I won’t have to go. Too bad my gigantic baby bump made me like a hippo in hiding.
I felt Ed gently pat me on the arm.
“Just think,” he said, “the next time you’ll be back here, we will have two new babies.”
If everything goes well, I thought. I smiled and nodded in agreement, but I was terrified of the possibility of returning home empty handed.
I savored every minute of my goddess shower that morning. That‘s what I called the glorious showers during which I actually got to wash and condition my hair. I shaved the top and the bottom of my legs. These were luxuries mothers of small children didn’t usually get. When I returned, I’d be a mommy-of-three: two preemie newborns and a toddler. I might never have a shower