After
many years of countless negative results, I failed to get excited while Lisa
went through the process of completing the test. To our shock and excitement,
the test came back positive. It was after 10pm on New Year’s Eve, but we wanted
to be 100% sure before we got too excited. Lisa found a clinic open and we
raced to have another test completed.
An hour
later, a nurse confirmed that Lisa was pregnant. As the shock and excitement
froze our emotions temporarily, the nurse at the clinic started to tell us
about our options. We were naïve and didn’t realize at first that the option
the nurse wanted to discuss was abortion. We had been trying on and off (mostly
on) for 7+ years and the thought of abortion as an option was never even
remotely considered.
The nurse
was taken aback a little once she realized that we wanted this pregnancy and
still wanted to make sure we understood our options. For us, there was no
option.
1999 was
going to be the best year ever as we planned to bring a child into this world
that was desperately wanted and would be loved more than anything.
As Lisa
and I visited family on New Year’s Day, we had fun “predicting” that Lisa would
have a baby in 1999. I know everyone was excited for us and even though almost
a decade had passed since losing our first child Everett to an extremely rare
heart defect at just 6 months old, no one broached the subject of Lisa getting
pregnant again with us.
Lisa was
able to enjoy her pregnancy for about two weeks before she started to get
violently sick. We thought it was just morning sickness, and it would pass.
Instead of passing, it got worse. Lisa couldn’t hold down any food and even
drinking water became impossible. It got to the point where Lisa was getting IV
fluids every few days as she started to see a high-risk obstetrician.
During an
ultrasound, we were beyond surprised to learn that Lisa was pregnant with
twins. We always pictured our lives with two children and Lisa dreamed of
having twins so she would only have to go through one more pregnancy. Twins did
not run in the family, and we did not use any infertility treatments, so twins
were completely unexpected. This made Lisa’s extreme morning sickness slightly
easier because we knew that she would only have to make it through this
pregnancy and we would have our family.
We opted
to learn that Lisa would be having identical girls. We already knew we would
name our daughter Kirsten Emilee, but we did not have a second name. We loved
the name Kirsten and Emilee was a combination of Emil (Lisa’s late father) and
Jerilee (my late mother).
Baby B
soon had a name, Kellisa. We liked the name Kelli, but Lisa thought she should
have a more formal name in case she became president someday. I was flipping
through a baby name book when I saw the name Kellisa. I immediately fell in
love with the name because it was a combination of Kelli and Lisa.
We set
off to figure out a middle name. To stay similar with Kirsten’s middle name, we
looked at Kellisa’s two surviving grandparents, Rose and Jeffery. It didn’t
take long to rule out Jeffrose, so we quickly created Rosery as Kellisa’s
middle name.
Kirstie
and Kelli would complete our little family.
The high
of this pregnancy was short lived when we learned at the next ultrasound that
one of the girls had a significant defect. The doctor diagnosed Baby B as
having hydrocephalus. We had no idea what hydrocephalus meant. I could tell it
was serious before he told us the hydrocephalus was significant and that he
would be referring Lisa and the girls to a group of extreme high-risk doctors
in Chicago.
I
couldn’t eat or drink in the house because just the smell of anything would
make Lisa’s extreme hyperemesis even worse. In the middle of this pregnancy, I
had accepted a new job but delayed my start date. I couldn’t leave Lisa’s side
as she needed full-time help.
Several
days passed in a fog before Lisa’s first appointment with her third doctor. We
were hoping there was some kind of mistake with the last ultrasound, and we
would find out that Kellisa was healthy. We quickly learned that the new doctor
did not have a warm bedside manner. He pointed to a large black space in
Kellisa’s skull and asked if we could see it. The darkness was obvious. Without
emotion or compassion, we were told that Kellisa’s brain should fill the empty
space. Without a brain, the baby couldn’t survive.
Lisa and
I also learned that our girls had twin-twin transfusion syndrome (TTTS). The
girls were sharing a placenta, but Kellisa was taking more than her fair share
of fluids and nutrients from Lisa. This was adding if not creating Lisa’s
battle with hyperemesis. Because Kirsten was on the giving end, her
developmental age was a couple of weeks behind Kellisa.
All three
of my girls continued to get worse. Lisa was becoming skin and bones despite
being 20 weeks pregnant with twins. Kirsten was falling farther behind Kellisa
whose skull size was growing from the increase of fluids. We didn’t talk about
it, but three lives were in danger.
Lisa’s
doctor recommended that we abort Kellisa to give Kirsten the greatest chance of
survival. We were also advised that there was a high probability of losing
Kirsten even if we aborted Kellisa. If we didn’t do anything, all three lives would
be at risk. We found ourselves in a situation that we could never have imagined
in our darkest dreams. We were being asked to play God without any guarantees
of positive outcomes for anyone, and it didn’t seem like Kellisa had any chance
to survive.
Because
so much was at stake with this complicated pregnancy, our super high-risk
doctors in Chicago recommended that we fly down to Tampa, FL to be seen by the
world’s leading expert in TTTS. After a few phone calls, we had an appointment
and airline tickets booked.
We landed
in paradise a few days later hoping for a miracle. Lisa’s Florida doctor
conducted an ultrasound and for the first time in months, we received good
news. He reported that he could see some brain tissue in Kellisa’s skull.
Because
Kellisa had minimal brain tissue, the Florida doctor thought Kellisa could
survive a few hours after being born. Because of this new outlook, he wasn’t
willing to abort Kellisa due to his own ethics.
We didn’t
go to Florida intending to abort Kellisa, but we knew it was a decision we
might have to confront. It was a great relief to avoid this decision and allow
nature to take its course. Lisa was willing to sacrifice herself for her
daughters. I admired her strength and resolve during this process.
Lisa
wasn’t feeling any better, but she had at least stabilized continuing her IV
fluids every few days. Our Chicago doctors continued weekly ultrasounds to
follow the development of the girls. They kept telling us that Kirsten was
looking healthy, and we could easily see the black space wasn’t getting any
smaller in Kellisa’s head. The doctors told us the pregnancy needed to get as
close to 40 weeks as possible, but 35-36 weeks was a realistic goal.
Lisa was
a trooper and dug deep as we were at 24 weeks. Three hours into the 25th week,
Lisa woke me up at 3am on Sunday, May 23rd because her water
broke. I jumped from our bed and started to run around house getting ready.
Within minutes, I had Lisa in our car and less than 25 minutes later, we
arrived at the hospital 35 miles away. I went through every stop sign and red
light as I raced towards the emergency room. I wasn’t going to stop and was
thankful our path did not cross any police officers or drunk drivers. I was on
a mission to save three lives.
The
emergency room doctors performed an ultrasound and thought the babies were at
least stable. Lisa’s main high-risk doctor was called, and he arrived within a
couple of hours to perform his own ultrasound. As he was looking at the
ultrasound, he told us that the babies needed to stay inside Lisa as long as
possible. Not only wouldn’t she be leaving the hospital before they were born, but
she also wouldn’t even be allowed to get out of bed.
Before
the doctor finished the ultrasound, the doctor called an alarm. The babies
needed to come out right now because Kirsten’s heart rate was falling rapidly.
Doctors and nurses came from every direction as they started to run down the
hall with Lisa towards an operating room. I was caught in a tornado of
activity. I tried to be there for Lisa while staying out of the way.
Within
seconds, Lisa was taken into the operating room, and I was told to wait
outside. Before they closed the door, I heard the doctor inquire if the
anesthesiologist was there and when a nurse answered that they were on the way,
he declared, “We don’t have time to wait, the babies need to come out now!”
I heard
Lisa yell out, “We have time!”
The doors
closed and I was left alone with no way of knowing what was happening to my
entire family. I found myself in the hallway. It was dead quiet. You would have
no idea of the drama playing out a few feet away if you passed by. There were
at least 15 people in the room with Lisa.
An
eternity passed before a man exited the operating room. As he ran by, he looked
at me and yelled, “They’re all alive”.
Not the
words most new fathers hear, but words that released the enormous weight on my
shoulders. I still had no real idea what was happening, but I knew everyone was
alive. I would later learn that the doctor who gave me the great news was the
attending neonatologist. At the time, I had never even heard of a
neonatologist.
Time was
standing still. I was still alone in the hallway when the door opened again and
this mass of humans working together passed by. There was a bed in the middle
surrounded by doctors and nurses. In between bodies, I got my first glimpse of
Kellisa. She was 2 pounds, 1 ounce. She was beautiful! She was alive!
A few
minutes later, a second mass of bodies passed. This time, I was able to get a
quick peek of Kirsten as they wheeled by without stopping. Kirsten was 1 pound,
11 ounces. She was beautiful! She was alive!
As
quickly as they came out of the room, they were gone and I was again left alone
with my head spinning. Thankfully, a nurse came out to talk to me with an
update on Lisa. I was told that Lisa would be in the operating room for a while
and that she would be alright. The nurse directed me to a waiting area and told
me that it would be about an hour before I could see Kirsten and Kellisa. The
only thing I remember doing during this time was calling Lisa’s mom and my dad.
I told them both to get to the hospital as soon as possible because the girls
had been born barely 9 hours into their 25th week. I remember
hanging up on both, not to be rude, but I couldn’t talk. I should have been
flying high this shortly after the birth of my girls, but I found myself
floating in shock.
Shortly
after the phone call, a nurse told me that I could see Kellisa and Kirsten. I
was told to scrub to my elbows before putting on a hospital gown. In my
continued daze, memories of this ritual from seeing Everett in the hospital
flooded my mind.
Even
though I had visited Everett in the hospital dozens of times, nothing prepared
me for what I was about to see. I saw Kellisa first and most of her tiny body
was covered in tubes, wires, tape, and a ventilator. Her size and weight were
about the same as a 32oz. bottle of water. Doctors and nurses were still
attending to her.
The
doctor told me that I would have to wait to see Kirsten. He said that she was
cut on her back from Lisa’s emergency C-section and a doctor was working on
her.
When I
was finally allowed to see Kirsten, my heart nearly pounded through my chest.
She was 6 ounces smaller than Kellisa and was similarly covered with tubes,
wires, tape, and a ventilator. However, she had a large bandage covering her
back. The small percentage of skin that I could see was blackened. I was told
that Kirsten didn’t have enough amniotic fluid around her for protection and
the black and deep purple colors were from bruising.
I was
overwhelmed in the NICU, so I went to find Lisa. By this point, she was in
recovery and still out of it. I went back to the waiting area outside the NICU.
Both living grandparents arrived and I took them back to meet their
granddaughters. My second time seeing the girls remains a blur in my memory. I
remember silence from the grandparents. Nothing can prepare you for the sights
and sounds of a Level IV NICU.
I knew
Kellisa had already lived beyond her life expectancy and it was obvious that
Kirsten was also fighting for her life. I went back to see Lisa was starting to
wake, but she was in bad shape. I knew she had to see the girls immediately.
Since the girls couldn’t visit mom in the bed like most other births, I had to
get Lisa to the girls. I was afraid we would lose one or both of the girls
before Lisa could see them while they were alive.
I had to
convince the nurses to let me push Lisa in a wheelchair to the NICU. I helped
Lisa scrub up and rolled her back. Lisa was uncomfortable and in considerable
pain, but she got to see her daughters.
I spent
the rest of the day and night going back and forth between Lisa and the girls.
The hospital had a favorable visiting policy. They strongly believed that
visitors were good for the health of the babies fighting for their lives.
Parents were allowed to visit around the clock. I did not sleep.
Both
girls made it through the night. Lisa was feeling a little better and I wheeled
her to see the girls a second time in the early morning hours.
I talked
to the nurses, and both girls were holding their own, which was the best we
could hope for at this critical stage. I explained that we left home in a hurry
completely unprepared for everything that was happening. I asked their
professional opinion if they thought I could go home for a few hours to shower
and grab a few things. I was thankful and relieved that they thought the girls
were stable enough. I wheeled Lisa back to her room and left for our home 35
miles away.
As I
opened the front door, I heard the phone ringing. My heart sank as I ran to
answer the phone. It was the NICU nurse who assured me that I could go home.
She explained that Kirsten was black and blue because her blood vessels weren’t
fully developed. I didn’t understand. The nurse further explained, Kirsten was
hemorrhaging. I needed to go back at the hospital immediately. I called both
grandparents. Without explaining, I told them to get to the hospital now and
hung up.
For the
second time in 36 hours, I broke many traffic laws to get to the hospital. I
ran to the NICU and was guided by a nurse to a private side room. Lisa was
holding Kirsten. I knew the look on Lisa’s face as it was embedded in my mind
from watching Everett take his last breaths. Lisa didn’t have to say a word; I
knew we were going to lose Kirsten too.
Kirsten
fought until my arrival, but I never got a chance to hold her little body while
she was alive. Kirsten was where she needed to be, in her loving mother’s
embrace with my arms wrapped around both. I wanted to protect them, save
Kirsten, but I was helpless. Kirsten fought for 27 brave hours before she
earned her angel wings and joined Everett in heaven.
We were
still in this side room when the grandparents arrived. I don’t know if the
nurses prepared them before entering our room. All I remember is tears. The
grandparents got to hold Kirsten for the only time before saying their personal
goodbyes.
We would never
have left the room on our own, but sensing it was time, a nurse entered with a
box for memories. She explained that we could fill it with pictures of Kirsten
and some items from her hospital stay, like the blanket she was wrapped in
while we held her close. After being guided through this unimaginable process,
the nurse allowed us to place Kirsten next to Kellisa so we could at least have
one picture of them together.
The nurse
left with Kirsten while promising to take great care of Kirsten until we could
make arrangements.
I left
the room and returned alone to see Kellisa. I wondered if she could sense the
loss of her identical twin sister. I wondered if she could feel any of
Kirsten’s pain. Kellisa was now far beyond her life expectancy and Kirsten was
the healthy twin. I knew all the doctors told us that Kellisa couldn’t survive,
but she had to survive.
I
whispered to Kellisa, “I promise to do everything in my power and beyond to
provide you with as normal of a life as possible if you survive”.
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