NICU and beyond

My twins were born 6 weeks prematurely in January 2020. My girl twin arrived first at a pretty ok size of 5lb 2oz,  she was small and needed a little help with feeding but was OK. My boy twin made an appearance an hour later and weighed a decent 6lb 10oz but he wasn't as strong as his sister. They warned me as they put him on my chest, saying ‘You can have a quick kiss but we have to take him away’. I simply told my husband to follow them as the doctors wheeled them away to the NICU.

They couldn't get my plancentas out so I was taken away for surgery. It was late at night by this point and I was understandably exhausted but they wheeled me in to see the twins as soon as I was able. 

I remember vividly being taken into the NICU, numb from the waist down, without glasses or contacts, with my husband pointing to these big machines filled with wires that somewhere within were tiny little poorly humans. It was clear that my little boy had a lot more machines and wires than his sister but the team kindly and softly explained what all of the machines were and how they were helping him. We spent three weeks at NICU which involved many steps both backwards and forwards, but once the team were content we were able to go home.

As you are all aware, the start of 2020 was when our world changed so we did what all families did which was hunker down, stay inside and for us, learnt on our own how to be a family of five (we had a two year old too!). This allowed me to work out how to keep two little humans alive at the same time, which was done without midwife/health visitor/family/friend visits but was supported by the weight of Google (although I would advise to stay faaaar away from certain parenting forums!). But, like a lot of us, I put my head down and just focused on the little people. Thinking of myself and what I had been through at NICU was put to the back of my mind, there were clearly more pressing matters at hand.

One year to the day of the twins birth, my little boy had all the symptoms of bronchitis (I'd seen it before with my eldest) and so a trip to the hospital was on the cards. I have never before been scared or nervous about hospitals, they are filled with brilliant, incredible people who care so deeply and look after you so well, but walking in that day had me shaking. 

I got through the first couple of days fine, he was doing OK, but on day three he took a turn and had to be transferred to the High Dependency Unit where an x-ray machine was wheeled in and more wires were attached to him. It was that night, when a lovely nurse asked me at 3am if I wanted a cup of tea, that II just burst into tears. The fear that I had hidden away for a year, the strength that I had carried for 365 days and the trauma that had stayed with me buried deep inside all came flooding out. I sobbed, hard. It hit me in waves. Looking at this one year old, on his birthday, with the same tubes in his little body took me right back to that feeling of helplessness. It didn't help that again, his twin sister was OK, at home eating cake. 

The nurse was amazing, she let me cry, she gave me a hug and a cup of tea, and once I told her my story she advised that I probably had post traumatic stress that was hidden deep within. She made me realise that by simply powering through for the last year with no support meant I hadn't had an opportunity to come to terms with what happened. It made me realise I didn't have to be strong all the time. 

Fortunately, another four days later we were allowed home, and he and his sister will be two in a fortnight. His 1st birthday made me realise that although the trauma of NICU doesn't go away, it is real, and it lasts, but it will lessen over time (I hope).

Thank you to Beth Haskew for sharing her and the twins’ story