And Then The Hardest Part...

On Sunday, January 26th, in the late afternoon.. I began to feel some contractions. But being as this was my first time through pregnancy, it could have been anything from gas pains to Braxton Hicks for all I knew. By late evening, they were coming about four per hour, but still very randomly spaced and never appeared to get longer or stronger. I decided to call the on-call OB, who told me Braxton Hicks were common earlier in twin pregnancies. She added to drink a bunch of water and rest on my side, and see how it went through the night.

Not much changed, until morning, when a portion of my mucous plug, with blood, had come out. My heart sank immediately. I knew this was bad. I called Brad and told him we needed to go to the OB's office. As I got in the car with Brad, I took his hand, and said "Babe, you need to expect the worst."

First they checked for heartbeats, both there and strong, but any relief was short lived as the pelvic exam showed that I was dilated and one of the sacs was bulging out. I knew by the look on their faces that it was over. But they still decided to send me to Indianapolis, via ambulance, to be in the care of the high risk doctors there. As they wheeled me out of the office, I remember looking at my husband's face.. so shocked and nervous. I wanted so badly to wake up and realize none of this was happening.

About an hour later, I arrived in Indy, and was quickly taken to a labor and delivery room. As they were going over all the standard questions, the contractions were getting much more frequent (every 4-5 minutes). The nurse asked when my husband would likely arrive. I knew in my heart that was code for, "You'll be giving birth soon, and I hope he makes it."

So many doctors and nurses flooded in and out, but the consensus was that there was nothing they could do to stop labor. My babies were coming, and once they arrived, they could do nothing to save them. An impossible pill to swallow.. especially for a first time mother who tried so hard to conceive them. That was the moment that everything became surreal.

Brad arrived, and things progressed quickly. Very quickly. I was near fully dilated and they told us that delivery was imminent. Up until this point, I had been so 'pulled together' and telling the nurses I was okay, and that I knew I just had to go with it. But as each contraction came, and my babies were closer to arriving, I began to fall apart.

I remember, at one point, asking the nurse if there was any way to make sure the babies weren't born alive.. because I didn't want them to suffer. I knew it could sound cold before I even said it. Luckily the nurse knew exactly what I meant and assured me that most babies at 19 weeks don't survive the process of labor and would likely be stillborn. So from that point on, I was expecting to give birth to my deceased children. The emotions that came with that realization are impossible to describe.

Labor was quickly in full swing. I struggled to catch my breath.. as I sobbed my way through each contraction. The nurse kept offering me pain meds, and each time, I declined.. struggling to explain to her that I wasn't crying at all because of the physical pain. It was my heart breaking that they couldn't do anything about..

And soon it was time to push. As I looked at my husband, all I could say was "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," over and over. He kept telling me "It's okay." But he had no way of knowing the depth of my apology. I was sorry that my body wasn't cooperating, yet again. I was sorry that our dream was slipping away from us. But mostly, I was sorry for something he couldn't grasp at that moment. Because I knew that me pushing, meant the death of our babies. Every fiber in my being wished I could will it to stop. To just refuse to push. And I was so sorry that I couldn't.

The first was born, with a gush of fluid (my water had not broken beforehand), and I wept in a way I had never before. My hands were over my eyes. I wasn't ready. I heard Brad ask, "Do you want to see the baby?" I couldn't even look. I just barely got out, "Not yet," as tears streamed down my face.

But within seconds, a nurse came to my other ear and said, "He has a heartbeat." I uncovered my eyes and immediately asked for the baby. I knew the moments were few, and I didn't want to miss any second of their lives.

When the nurse cleaned the baby up a bit later, we found out that 'he' was actually a 'she.' Jasper Kaelyn was my first born. Our baby girl.

As soon as I held her, all my tears stopped.. though my heart was still breaking into a million pieces. Brad held it together until I asked him if he wanted to hold her. As he took her, tears started streaming down his face. He was a father, in perhaps the most unfair way possible, but undoubtedly a loving and protective father.

We passed her back and forth, making the most of the time we had. But every time she wiggled or moved her mouth, I couldn't tell if my heart was going to burst from so much love or such unbelievable heartache.

What only felt to me like 10 or 15 minutes, was actually an hour later.. when baby number two made his arrival. No doubting this was a boy. Bodhi Steven emerged, lanky with huge hands. Definitely his father's boy. And again, "This one has a heartbeat too."

I couldn't believe that both were strong enough to survive birth, and that Jasper had survived an hour, waiting patiently for her twin brother to arrive. I remember holding them both, peaceful tears falling down my face, as I took Brad's hand.. "They really wanted to meet us..."

The most bittersweet moment of our lives, breathing in our two babies.. who we had waited so long for.. but knowing it was also goodbye. There would be no baby showers. No pediatrician appointments. No first steps. No shopping for their first school dance. No teaching them how to drive.

This was it. We had to squeeze a lifetime of love and dreams into a few short minutes.

I tried to keep some positive perspective, even as my world felt like it was crumbling around me. Turning again to my husband, "These are our babies. And no matter what, they've made us better and closer. That's their gift to us."

And then they were gone.. within just moments of each other.

They offered to let us keep holding them, but we decided to not see them again. I just wanted my memories to be of those fleeting moments with them, and I was trying desperately to not cling to the idea of what was already gone. So we picked out their clothes, confirmed the spelling of their names, and it was over...

Not long after, I passed most of the placenta, but not all. So they informed me that I would need a procedure done to remove it. The first option for the procedure they gave me was to have an epidural done. I pleaded to not have it. My entire goal was to have a natural birth, and though it was far sooner than planned, I had succeeded in that. To get through the worst of it, only to be told I'd need an epidural anyway, was just not something I could accept after all I'd just gone through. Luckily, I had a nurse that turned into an advocate, and argued on my behalf. In the end, they were able to retrieve it manually (albeit, in an operating room) with me under partial sedation.

I remember as I was laying there, waiting for the sedation to kick in, staring at the lights above me.. tears rolling down my cheeks.. that this all couldn't be real. This couldn't have all just happened within a few hours time. But when I woke up, it was just as cold and lonely as when I went under. And that's when the emotional toll really started to break me apart.

They brought me back to the room, where Brad had been waiting for me. We were both thoroughly exhausted at this point, so we decided to just go to bed. But as I was washing my face, I fell apart. It was the sudden realization that I was no longer pregnant. That I just gave birth to our two babies, but we wouldn't be taking either of them with us when we left.

I made my way to the bed, trying to not wake up Brad, but I was quite unsuccessful. He made his way over in the darkness, and climbed into the hospital bed with me.. holding me as I sobbed uncontrollably. I did pause long enough to remark that he was probably breaking the rules. His reply? "They do it in the movies." But that split second of lightheartedness didn't last.

I remember then telling him that I felt like a failure as a wife and mother.. that I couldn't even protect my own children -- I could do nothing to save them. All I could do was apologize over and over for letting him, and them, down.

But he whispered all the right things, as he always does, and we had a good cry together. But he never left the bed. He slept next to me the entire night until a doctor came to check on me in the morning. She cracked a little smile. Even if he wasn't 'supposed' to be there, she certainly wasn't going to say anything.

By morning, we knew we were going home. That's when it set in for Brad.. He just looked at me and said, "It feels like we're leaving something behind."

And we were. I knew that he and I were the only ones who would ever understand what had just happened, and the emptiness of holding your newborns, but going home without them. My inner voice was screaming, "Where are my babies?! I want my babies!" I knew his was screaming the same thing.

As he went to warm up the car, I stood alone in the hospital room, trying to absorb every minute detail.. about the room, the bed, the equipment. My children spent their entire lives in this room... Every little thing mattered in that moment.

Brad came back in to find me standing in the middle of the room, at the end of the bed where I delivered Jasper and Bodhi, with tears rolling down my face. One half of me wanted to flee .. to just be at home with my husband -- to heal. But the other... oh, the other didn't want to leave without her children.

We both struggled as we left the parking garage, making our way out of Indianapolis, feeling like there should be two car seats in the back... but it was empty.

Coming home was hardly the end of it... The challenge was just beginning.

(Since writing this, so many contacted us asking how they could help. We decided to start a fundraiser in hopes of trying again. If you would like to help us get our second chance, please visit gofundme.com/shilorfund.)