*this is one entry of many, highlighting my days from Riley & Avery's pregnancy, delivery, and recovery.
(I have had several people worry after reading, thinking that I was going through a struggle now!)


I don't remember being placed in the wheelchair or being wheeled upstairs to the 9th floor NICU.

I do remember being greeted by a lovely nurse who checked our bracelets then took us through the famous double-doors.

This level IV NICU was very different from the NICU I had been to before. High-security, LOTS of beds (60, to be exact), and a level of intensity that I could never have imagined.

The unit was divided into 4 nurseries. We were previously told that the one on the left was reserved for only the sickest babies.

When we walked through the doors, we followed the nurse who took a sharp left.

I was shocked! Why would MY babies need to be in the nursery reserved for the SICKEST?

Clearly there was a mistake.

Drug babies and meconium babies were obviously sicker than mine.

Dr. Ellen Bifano met us at Riley's bedside. I peeked up over the side and couldn't believe what my eyes saw.

I tried to take it in, but it was so noisy in the unit that it was difficult to adjust.
I said, "I feel overstimulated."
The nurse who was tending to Riley, unwinding tubes and hanging IVs, said, "How do you think THIS little guy feels?"
My vision was still a bit blurred, so I shook my head in an attempt to focus.

By this time, Eric was standing just to my right, listening intently to the long list of issues that the boys were experiencing.
Dr. Bifano was trying her best to list for him those issues in order of importance.
He was trying to make straight who was Baby A and who was Baby B, since they had switched places from what we had previously known.

All I could think was, "It doesn't matter. None of this matters. We're so out of control. We're helpless. THEY'RE helpless. If God wants them to live, they will. If He doesn't, then they won't. What's the point of hearing all these details?"

It was getting hotter and hotter by the second.

I felt flushed in my cheeks.

I couldn't process what the doctors were saying.

It felt good to finally just let go and stop fighting. I slumped forward in the wheelchair and passed out cold.

Eric isn't sure exactly how long I was out for, but he remembers the conversation that took place during that time.

Dr. Bifano: "Uh, excuse me. Excuse me? Look what's happening. Your wife, is, uh. She's PASSING OUT!"

Eric: (reaching to prop me up so I don't fall out of the chair)

Dr. Bifano: "Will you please do something?" (now frantically looking around for a nurse) "Someone come and give us a HAND HERE!"

Eric: (shaking me, speaking softly in my ear) "Lisa, Lisa. "C'mon, honey. You passed out."

Dr. Bifano: (now shouting at Eric) "DO SOMETHING!"

Eric: (shouting back) "Are you kidding me? YOU'RE the doctor! What are you looking at me for?"

I'm pretty sure it was the sound of Eric's voice that woke me up at that point. I remember thinking, "What on Earth is Eric so upset about?" I was scolded by the nurses and Dr. Bifano to never, ever do that again. They said that they have been working NICU for so long that hadn't the slightest idea of how to help an adult.

Dr. Bifano said that before she left that day she put someone in charge of making an adult help kit with an O2 mask (bigger than a walnut) and smelling salts, etc.
They would keep it on the floor in case that ever happened again.

I said, "If I can't even touch my babies then why are we here?"

Eric said they wanted us to spend as much time with Riley as we possibly could because they weren't confident he would hang in there much longer.

I was seriously annoyed.

"Take me back downstairs so I can sleep. My abdomen hurts."

To be cont'd.

I was taken from the 7th floor where I had made my home, one floor up to L&D.

They increased my mag sulfate by A LOT. A resident came in and explained that this dose for my weight would most likely cause some significant side effects. She explained that they would, for a short time, aggressively try to stop my labor, even though they were pretty sure it was a lost cause. I understood the trying, it was just difficult to deal with the pain of the contractions, on top of the pain from the infection, on top of the side effects from the mag. The most bothersome effects were flushing, overall weakness, and blurred vision.

Eric watched me, contraction after contraction, and just shook his head.
It must have been a lot for him to take in.
Nothing like our previous three births.
At one point, he sat staring off into space and said in a low voice, "You're contracting, but with an infection. It's like you're having to chew a tough steak with an abscessed tooth."

He discussed the high dose of mag and length of time it would be used with two wonderful L&D nurses.
They both left and came back a short time later. They said that since the infection was growing quickly (obvious from the intensity of my pain) that they were going to stop the mag and take me to the OR.

By this time I felt a bit like I was having an out-of-body experience.
But the excitement of knowing my babies would soon be out and that "this was IT" was apparently enough to keep me going.

The OR was loaded with people. When I say loaded, I mean there were about 20 people, at least at first.
They moved me from the stretcher to the OR table, put the transducer on my belly, and flipped on the u/s monitor.
I loved getting to watch the babies during this last portion of my labor.
In fact, I dare say it was the best show I've ever seen.
Remember, Baby A (Avery) was head down, ready to go.
Baby B (Riley) was second in line for the grand entrance.

I heard buzz from the neonatologist and NICU nurses that they were concerned about how 'fragile' Baby B would be and how they weren't sure he would survive the delivery.
Months later, the nurses who attended the birth shared that when they called for a team to come to the OR for my delivery, no one really wanted to come. When they heard, "12 week rupture, 27 week

I heard the the resident tell the OR nurse, "Hey! Look at that. It looks like Baby B is moving down into position and even pushing past A."

Within 60 seconds, every single person in the room had grown silent and was now glued to the monitor.

The race was on.

Avery was moving out of the way to let his sick brother by.
Riley was accepting the offer and descending perfectly down into birthing position.

Thank you, God.

I now had permission to push.

Riley James was born and then ressucitated by the wonderful and brilliant Dr. Thomas Curran.

I gazed upon the screen and could not believe my eyes.
I had no idea that when the first twin exits the building, it gives the remaining twin a feeling of free-fall.
Avery thrashed about violently as soon as Riley was born.
He had been previously cramped for space and then was suddenly feeling no boundaries.
He did not stop until three minutes later when I was given permission to push again.
I yelled, "Holy Moly, he's doing the moonwalk!"
Everyone laughed hysterically. Not because what I said was funny, but probably because I was whacked out on drugs.

Avery Marc was born and instantly intubated.
The neonate who whisked him off to the NICU turned him toward us as he rushed by so we could sneek a peek.
I looked horrified, gasped, and Eric said, "Eww! Who drowned the rat!?"

Laughter, again.

We were just these poor parents in the midst of a trial, trying to make the best sense of each phase.
This was a wild and crazy ride, yet it was only the very beginning.

Riley's placenta broke into a dozen pieces and I screamed out in pain as the attending physician dug in and retrieved each tiny piece. For what seemed like hours, I was tortured for my own good. I knew it MUST be done, but during that time, I truly wished I had been put out or under or SOMETHING. I later learned that the pain was coming primarily from the infected fluid and tissue that still remained in my uterus.

I'm very thankful that nothing was left behind.

To be cont'd.

I was wheeled down for two ultrasounds each week.

One day when I was wheeled back upstairs to my room after having an ultrasound, my parents and brother were sitting in my room waiting for me to return.

It was an interesting visit. My mom and dad laughed nervously about random things, trying desperately to hide the fact that they were scared. They obviously didn't like seeing their daughter in a hospital bed, especially for this length of time. We shared a meal together, they hugged me and wished me luck, then got back on the road to beat an incoming storm.

The famous question that I heard over and over and over again was, "Excessive bleeding, leaking, changes?"
My nurses asked me this question every. three. hours. for the entire month I was at Crouse.

This day, January 27th, at the 6 pm asking of this question, I said something I had yet to say.

YES.

"YES?! What do you mean 'yes'?" the surprised nurse asked.

"I feel changes. Something is different. I'm not sure what, but I'll keep you posted."

Of course I hoped that it would be a quiet evening as usual, with me buzzing my nurse if and when I needed something.
But, after saying what I said, the lights went on and the activity in our room increased.
Nurses came in and out. They wrote on clipboards and talked on phones.
They whispered to each other and briefed the residents.
The monitor was wheeled in and the NST began.

Inside me, an infection was growing.
It wasn't super obvious at the time, but everyone took me at my word that "something had changed".

This is the infection that threw me into full-blown labor.

By 8 pm, I was having regular contractions that really got my attention.

In addition to the pain from each contraction, I was feeling another pain.
A different kind of pain.
An infection kind of pain.

I had called Eric to just mention that I had "felt some changes".
He insisted that he would come if I wanted him to. After all, his mom had just happened to take the three kids home with her so he could get some good sleep.

"Totally not necessary," I insisted.

By midnight, the nurses had decided that I was officially in labor and called in the IV team to start my magnesium sulfate. This is a drug used to stop pre-term labor.

I was only two days shy of being 27 weeks along.

The nurses also called Eric to say, "You'd better come. It's the real deal."

He left Potsdam at 12:15am and was in the room by 2:15.
The nurse who called him to come gave him a big SMACK when she came in the room and saw that he was already there. "I know when you left and I know where you came from, Speedy! You're lucky you made it here in one piece!" she scolded. He just laughed and defended himself. "No traffic. Besides, I followed an ambulance from Fort Drum and he was cookin'."

To be cont'd.

Shirley.

She was an older lady who served as a nurses aide the whole month I was in bed at Crouse.
I like to think she belonged to us, just me and Jess.
She was a thin, grey-haired black woman with the most charming southern drawl.
When she came in to change our linens, we heard stories about her family, her friends, and her most recent adventures.
I remember her telling us how much she loved meeting her friends at Red Lobster, and "Ooh, the PIE! I can't get enough of their Key Lime Pie!"
After awhile, Shirley had no problem sitting in the visitor's chair, chatting, while I changed my own bedsheets.
She understood that it was difficult for me to go from caring for a husband and three kids everyday to lounging around in bed all day long.

Cynthia.

She was a younger lady who worked alongside Shirley.
I liked to pretend she was her daughter, in fact, because she looked and acted like she could have been.
Cynthia was tall. By tall I mean she was easily 6'4.
She was pretty. She had straight, shiny black hair.
She was quiet until she got to know us well.
She had a much more difficult time letting me get up and help.
Once when I hopped up and started stripping my bed, she immediately looked over at the door and hissed, "Hey! Are you trying to get me in trouble? I ain't supposed to be lettin' you help me, now. You get back in bed before they fire my behind."
She was married with an adorable, chubby little son.
I only recently forgot his name.

Donna.

She was one of the evening nurses who really got to know us girls and was just great at her job.
I'll never forget the look on her face as she leaned against our windowsill and told us the story of how her daughter was killed in a car accident right down the road from us on 81.
She had just come back to work not long before I was admitted.
I prayed for her a lot.
She would bring Jess and I minty ice cream sandwiches from the cafeteria on certain occasions and you can bet your life that those babies were the best treats EVER.

Belinda.

She was my favorite nurse of all.

You shall learn why very soon.

____________________________________________________

Eric's visit.

Since Eric had to work everyday and help keep the home fires burning, he was a bit too busy to plan a road trip to visit me.

After admission, almost a whole week went by before I could even talk to the kids on the phone.
It was tricky coordinating a time when they weren't napping and when I wasn't talking with a nurse, doctor, infection control, a NICU rep, a radiology tech, or some other health care personnel.
The first time I actually heard their little voices was such honey to my soul. Sweet and delicious.
Molly's voice was squeaky and cute.
Timothy was hyper and hard to understand.
He shouted, "Hey, Mom! I reewy miss you. I pwayed for you!"
And Colby, well he was just bursting with questions.
"Did you have another ultrasound? Are the babies out yet? Is Baby A first or Baby B?"

Before we hung up, the kids managed to tell me about daddy feeding them Fruity Pebbles and Twizzlers.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't care at all.
It was so wonderful to hear their littles voices and tell them how much I missed them that I put the junk food right out of my mind. I had sweet dreams every single night I spoke to them.


One snowy day, Eric headed out with the kids to surprise me.
He had to turn around because there was a terrible snowstorm and there was talk of closing 81.
For some reason, he didn't want to risk getting stuck in Watertown or Syracuse with three young children.
Huh, go figure.

The one time he actually was able to come visit me, he brought Miss Molly along for the ride.
He had to drive through a blinding snowstorm that day, too.
The whole way, Molly squealed, "Daddy, daddy! Sing the 'Muffin Man' song again! C'mon daddy, you can do it!"
Eric said he squinted, desperate to see the road five feet in front of him.
He kissed the ground when they finally arrived in Syracuse.
His knuckles were white and his hands were aching from grasping the wheel so tightly.
They were only able to stay for a couple of hours, which flew by like minutes.
I remember being excited about Jess finally getting to meet one of my kids.
Eric said, "Thankfully, I only had to stop once. Little Miss had to go pee."
I laughed, "You don't have a Pull-Up on her?"
Apparently he trusted her new potty skills to the point of not even bringing a change of clothes!

To be Cont'd.

It has been 9 years.

As to the exact chronological order of how these events took place, my mind does fail me.

But if you don't mind, I'll take liberty to share as they come.

Our days consisted of drinking lots of water.

We both had large water bottles that were filled and emptied several times each day.

Our days consisted of blood pressure checks, temps, and evening NST strips.

The first week or so, the nurses wheeled in the monitor and set me up.

After I figured out how to put on my straps and turn on the machine, they allowed me to be somewhat independent in getting those strips.

Following two active, yet tiny babies around inside that belly of mine was a challenge.

They would duck and dodge and I would adjust the transducers accordingly.

Jess and I became quite accustomed to hearing that clompety-clomp, clompety-clomp sound of the heartbeats each evening right after dinner, or whenever the monitors were available.

Several times I argued that getting a perfect 20 minute strip was near impossible.

The nurses passed my complaint on to the docs and their answer was, "You don't have anything else to do!"

In my orders, I was not given permission to walk around, only to shower and use the bathroom.

Those beds feel quite hard after awhile, so I just HAD to think of a good excuse to meander.

I made out a few thank-you cards to friends who had visited and encouraged me before I left for Syracuse.

I took them down to the nurses station to put them in the outgoing mail.

As I made my way down the hall, all I could think was SWEET FREEDOM!

When I approached the nurses station, two nurses were having a lively conversation about a Chinese take-out gem they had recently found.

REAL CONVERSATION!

Their chatting fizzled and they both turned to stare at me in silence for a moment.

"WHAT are you doing, my dear, besides trying to get us in trouble? Docs are doing rounds, and if they see you wandering the halls, they will NOT be happy."

"But I need to put these in the outgoing mail."

"And you know that little red button over your bed with the nurses outline on it? That is what you're going to push from now on when you have outgoing mail."

I didn't feel scolded. I knew we were connecting on an intimate level and that they understood me.

Any chance I could, I would mosy on down and place my cards in the wire basket on the counter.

And it was heaven.

To be Cont'd.