I was diagnosed with PCOS and after
two years of trying, my husband and I
conceived twins by artificial
insemination in July. Our first
ultrasound at seven weeks showed three
sacs present, but one was empty. We
had a twinge of sadness for the baby
that didn't develop, but that was
overshadowed by the relief and joy we
felt. We had an ultrasound at eight
weeks with my new OB, and then two
days later I started bleeding. The
heavy bleeding stopped in a few days,
and I spotted after that. After
watching our babies grow and swim for
the next seven weeks, I was comforted
but still scared there would be more
complications.
At 15 weeks, 2days, I woke up at 03:00
a.m. to a gush of fluid. At first I
though I was bleeding badly, and then
I thought I had peed the bed. A quick
trip to the ER revealed PPROM, and
being a nurse, I knew it was a dismal
prognosis. I heard those
words "dismal prognosis" frequently
for the next few days. I was
admitted, and then sent home a day
later on modified bedrest. We don't
have a computer at home, so I didn't
have access to much information. We
were hopeful, although I continued to
leak fluid all the time. Weekly
ultrasounds showed two wiggly babies,
Baby B a girl, Baby A a surprise. I
have a really dry sense of humor, and
I jokingly kept track of the days by
marking on my bedroom wall with a
pencil, as if I were stranded on a
deserted island.
On November 3rd, I woke up and felt
uncomfortable, as if I might be
constipated, but I did have a nagging
sense that something was "off". I
didn't want to eat anything, hoping
that would help. I couldn't get
comfortable, and the fullness seemed
to be centered low in my pelvis and
was getting worse. I took my usual
brief shower and started to panic when
I realized it was getting worse and
seemed to be coming and going. I
called my husband and doctor and we
headed for the hospital. By the time
I was admitted for monitoring, I
started to chill and shake. My
temperature was up and the pain was
getting a lot worse. Things started
moving really fast then, and even
though I begged my OB to stop the
labor, she couldn't because I was
obviously infected. I was so scared.
I kept hoping that the affected baby,
Baby A, would be delivered and maybe
they could stop labor and save Baby
B. Sadly, Baby B delivered first that
night, our beautiful baby girl that we
had been calling Kate for weeks. My
husband asked if we would name her
Ekaterina, the full name we had
picked, but it seemed too big for such
a tiny baby. She was 1 pound, 2
ounces and perfect. We held her for
an hour until she died. Baby A was
born as Kate died. My OB told us that
she couldn't feel Baby A's pulse
anymore in the birth canal, and then a
minute later called out softly "Here
is your baby boy" it felt like I had
been punched in the heart. We hadn't
been able to tell before delivery that
Baby A was a boy. Losing two babies
seemed too cruel, and then to lose our
perfect dream of a boy and a girl was
just too much. We wanted to name a boy
James, after my husband's father, but
looking at him - already gone- it
didn't seem right to name the dead
after the living. And I still long to
have my "Jimmy" someday. So we named
him Anton, after his great
grandfather. He was only 10 ounces,
and although we feel he was perfect,
he did have some of the physical
problems that low-fluid babies
develop. I regret not having our own
camera to take pictures with the
babies. The nurses took a picture of
them together hours after they died,
and that one picture is all we have.
I have been overwhelmed with guilt for
months. For seven weeks on bedrest I
wondered what I did, or didn't do,
that caused the PROM. After the
delivery I blamed myself for failing.
That extra trip to the bathroom,
stolen minutes sitting in a recliner
instead of lying down; I was sure I
was responsible, after all, who else
can you blame?
I have been able to do a lot of
research on PROM since we lost the
babies, and it did help to relieve
some of my guilt. I'm back at work,
back in the world, but when my family
asks "are things getting back to
normal?" I cringe and think, "no,
just back to the way things were
before my pregnancy". I think about
my babies everyday, and I still cry a
lot, although a little less each day.
I even feel guilty for the days when I
don't cry, like somehow I am
forgetting them.
I would like to talk to other women
who have PCOS and have been able to
get pregnant again after PPROM. And
if you're reading this and can't stop
believing that it was somehow your
fault, I encourage you to do some
research, however painful it may be.
Writing in a journal has helped too,
because even when everyone else
has "moved on", you can always talk to
the babies you have lost.
God bless you.
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