So I admit, the “1/2” might be a little exaggerated but the 2hr 43minutes are not! It was important to me to track it so I knew the exact time, the exact hour, the exact minute in case God forbid something happened.
It didn’t sound regular. It sounded like something was wrong. We had just gotten in from dinner. I had just taken my shoes off and put my feet up on the coffee table, and Mary was changing into her pajamas getting ready for a busy day tomorrow. I got up quickly, half walked half ran to the bathroom, barged in and asked what was wrong.
Blank expression on her face, voice soft and frail, bloody tissue in hand, she answered, “I’m bleeding…” I looked into the bowl and there was a whole lot of blood.
Time stopped…everything went black for about 8 seconds. What do I do? Where do I go? How do I help? The clock starts ticking again. There is something wrong. Clearly, very wrong!
“MARY! Get your shoes on! We gotta go!!!”
I grabbed Callie’s hoodie, Mary’s ipad, our keys and push everyone out the door. “Are you crampy? Do u still feel like you’re bleeding? Do you need me to do anything? I’m nervous. I’m scared. What if something’s wrong?” We weren’t moving fast enough. It felt like I got stuck behind the slowest driver in NY state, caught every red light, and couldn’t find a parking spot. The hospital is 8 blocks away but it still took us 11 minutes to get there.
We check in at the hospital. 27 minutes before they called us in. “Change into this. Let’s set up an IV. Waiting on ultrasound tech. Someone will get you soon. Any cramping? Twins right? Could be the loss of just 1.” We were loosing it. Tears, prayers, phone calls. My in-laws came to get Mary because we felt like it was a bit much for a 6 year old.
It was just Callie and I. Clock ticking. Silence. More tears. I was trying to comfort her. I was trying to say the right things but I was fumbling. 1 hour 40 minutes- they bring a wheel chair and we walk over to ultrasound. “Sorry miss. You have to wait outside.”
WHAT?!?! Wait out here? By myself with all these thoughts, and this clock ticking? I wouldn’t be in there with Callie to hold her hands and wipe tears if this all takes a turn for the worst. Hesitantly, I say ok. I check my phone. 1 hour 55 minutes. Hands in my pockets, I pace the waiting area. Bing Bang Theory plays on the TV. Not so funny today. It’s just me in there. I look at ultrasound pictures on my phone. I watch the video over and over again of the first time we heard their heart beats. I pray. I cry. I panic. I can hardly breathe. I don’t hear her crying, but I don’t hear her laughing either. 2 hours 18 minutes! What’s taking so long!?!?!
Finally, the door opens, Callie strolls out, picture in hand, smile on her face, “It’s the first time they get them both in one picture!”
Relief. I can breathe a full breath. I’m fine. She’s fine. Babies are fine. Everyone is ok and in one piece. I see 2 big heads, ying yangs, my little cuties together looking like they’re almost high-fiving each other. Callie likes to pull pranks on people and she says the twins totally beat her at her own game. I don’t know what to say. I hug her, kiss her, and kiss her belly (but not before a quick over the tummy pow-pow to each of them for scaring the living crap outta Mama!) We laugh. It is kinda funny. We head back to our room in the ER. Callie has her cervix checked, Blood work and urine results get back and everything checks out well. 2 hours and 43 (and a half) minutes later, they hand us our paperwork, and we are headed home.
We get home to find Nonna and Pop passed out on the couch. They are relieved to know that their first grandbabies are doing fine. We give hugs and kisses, say our see ya’s, wake Mary and let her know we’re home and that all is well. We get into bed emotionally drained and physically exhausted. I hold Callie a little closer tonight, rest my hand on her growing belly and say a silent prayer. It wasn’t until a while later that I noticed I didn’t hear the clock ticking anymore…