One Year

One year. 365 Days.

It feels like forever, yet no time at all.

Today, we're going to celebrate you both -- your far too short lives.

In just a few hours, we'll be headed to Indy. To the hospital where you were born. To the only place you ever lived. I have no idea how I'll feel walking in there again. Overwhelming grief? Peace? Grounded again in the place where I met you? My guess is it will be a blend of all of them.

The same as it was the day you were born.

Your father and I relive that day frequently.

Just this morning, I awoke to your father wrapping his arm around me. As I came out of my grogginess, I asked if he was okay.

"Just thinking about them... I just wanted to be close to you."

I rolled over into his arms, tucking my head beneath his chin. We talked about that day, tears falling down both our faces, as we remarked on how strong and beautiful you were -- and how we were so grateful that we got to meet you.

I said to him, "They were pretty amazing."

Your father gently moved his fingers through my hair, and whispered, "They got that from you."

You see, he likes to give me credit for your strength.. for your will to live. But the truth is, you were the best of both of us. The best thing we ever did. And I'm only so strong when your father is standing next to me. He's the one who walked me through the grief. The man who got into the hospital bed with me and stayed through the night. The man who would sit outside the shower when we got home.. just in case I broke down and needed him.

I like to think you were the best of us.. as a team.

And we're both so proud of you. Proud to call you ours. Proud of your strength -- to beat the odds -- and live long enough for us to be able to hold you both in our arms at the same time. Feeling you breathe, and wiggle your little arms and legs, as you lay upon my chest side by side ... Oh, I'll never forget it.

When we visit the hospital, we'll be donating some children's books to the maternity ward. It brings me a bit of peace to know that other parents will be bonding with their children -- because of you. Your spirit and your beauty will live on each night a child chooses one of the books we've donated in your memory.

The hospital also wants to interview us about you and that day. I'm nervous, but happy to do it.

People keep telling me how inspirational and strong I am for sharing your story. But really, I'm just like any other mother who loves to talk about her children. I don't get to talk about your spelling bees or your t-ball games. But I'll never stop talking about the love I felt in those hours with you.

I'm not inspiring. The magic in the story is yours -- it belongs to you.

So thank you. Thank you for bringing your father and I even closer together. Thank you for meeting us. Thank you for touching the world.

We celebrate you today. Happy Birthday, Jasper & Bodhi <3

- Your mother

Good Few Days

A lot has happened in just a few days.

Great news arrived in our mailbox on Thursday.

If you've been following the blog, or my Facebook, since last March.. you know that our insurance company had denied the hospital stay I had early on with the twins (for hyperstimulation). I had been admitted for 8 days, and would have died without treatment. However, they claimed it was a complication of fertility meds, so it would not be covered. Note: a lot of this post is numbers and bitching, so feel free to skip to the ** to bypass ;)

The bill for that stay was $29k. Insurance, however, was only billed $12k for the same services, but since it was denied, we were first billed the sticker price. After dealing with a plethora of inept employees at St. Vincent's, one told me I would only be billed the $12k. Then a bill arrived for the full amount. Next rep told me I would have been better off without having insurance since I could have had an uninsured discount, but I didn't qualify because we technically did have insurance. Her boss disagreed and gave us the discount.. bringing it down to about $18k ($6k more than insurance was even billed, if you recall.)

So next, I apply for the financial assistance. The hospital fails to go by its own publicly released policy/chart, and decided we should get a 40% discount. New bill arrives. I call to complain it doesn't line up with their own policy based on income and family size, and am informed that it's just a "general guideline" used for people with "really large bills and stuff." Um. First, 29k isn't a large bill? Two, why post a clear-cut financial chart as public policy if it's really a vague case-by-case "large bill" decision? But at this point, getting a lawyer would have cost more than the 2-3k difference in discount. I was also informed, "The financial aide discount should have been applied to the original amount (29k), but she accidentally took it off your uninsured total. So, since that was our mistake, we'll honor it." Why thank you. Basically telling me that our total "should have been" around $14k, but they were generously going to let us slip by with 'just' $9k.

Btw, it's worth noting, that during this same time period, I applied for financial assistance with IU Health for a plethora of other bills, and they determined -- based on the same income/bank statements/etc, that my husband and I should cap out at $1500 out of pocket. But St. Vincent, a non-profit and 'charitable' hospital, decided that $9k was cutting us a huge break.. o.O

** At any rate, we had to start making payments ASAP, or it would be sent to collections. So our only option was to agree to a payment plan that would last 7 years. Basically like adding a car payment to our already tight budget -- with me barely working at all.

All I could think as I agreed to this plan was that I was going to be making monthly payments up until the twins would have been in 2nd grade. Nevermind the huge financial burden -- the monthly reminder for seven years was going to be pure torture.

So we appealed. Got records, letters from our doctor, had husband's HR people contact the insurance company -- and it was denied. So we appealed again. It was denied again. Finally, after 9 months of appealing, I had given up all hope. We had already made several payments under the "agreement" and I had accepted that I was doomed to feel that punch in the gut every single month.

But I went ahead and sent the letter requesting the final, external review. They asked if I had any new "evidence" to include. And I didn't. We'd said, and tried to prove, everything we possible could. We'd rebutted every argument. It got us nowhere, and I felt this would be no different.

Then, last Thursday, my husband brought in the mail while I was watching television. He walks from the kitchen with a packet of papers in his hands -- with an inquisitive look on his face. His brow was furrowed. I was beyond curious what kind of mail deserved this much attention.

"That's not a good look. Something wrong?" I asked.

He looked up at me, still somewhat puzzled. "It's good news.. I think."

He handed me the paper, as if he couldn't believe it until I read and confirmed it.

I scanned the page quickly, recognizing it was from the external appeal. "The previous decision has been overturned... Benefits shall be paid. This decision is binding."

I probably read it three times before the same confused look melted away from my face.

I looked up at my husband with tears in my eyes, now standing over me, and smiled. A smile that was both meek and joyous at the same time. I put my arms up and said "Yay!" -- but with the volume and breath of a sigh.

He went down to his knees, and we hugged. Stating back and forth, "I'm so happy." and "I can't believe it."

Soon, he had to leave for work, and by then we were both starting to accept the news as reality. He kissed me good-bye, but didn't let go. He was just staring at my face.. as he held it in his hands -- gently tucking my hair behind my ears. He looked at me as though I was the most puzzling and beautiful thing. Something he was seeing for the first time.

I simply asked, "What?"

And he responded, "It's just so nice to see you smile again."

It wasn't until after he walked out the door that his statement really settled in. It had been a long time since he'd seen a genuine, full-hearted, and unguarded smile come across my face. Until this, I probably hadn't had that much joy and relief since we lost the twins.

And his statement made me feel both sad -- that it had taken this long for my husband to see me truly smile, and hopeful -- that I could feel true joy and relief again.

I was burdened with the emotional aspect of getting the reminder of the twins each month. I was worried about my husband -- already working two jobs -- stressing about the financial strain. And I could let it go, all at once. I could breathe again.

And just a couple days later, was our first shower for "Garby."

My mother hosted, but did it in our home.. since her place is 'out of the way' for most, she wasn't super comfortable making vegan food for a party, and it kept us from having to drag items between places afterwards.

I decided to do a robin's egg theme -- in reference to our bird tattoos, and the nursery colors. It really was quite lovely.

And though I always stress before a gathering, I kept reminding myself to just relax and enjoy it. This isn't about the perfect food or decorations. This is about celebrating my child.

It was, of course, bittersweet, as we put up decorations on the mantle where Jasper and Bodhi's ashes reside. But in my heart, I was celebrating them too. I didn't feel like a first-time mother, after all. I held my babies already. This was just me -- loving one more.

And perhaps as a surprise to some, my husband decided he wanted to be there. I'm not sure he would have with the twins. But with everything that happened, I think he didn't want to "miss" anything that celebrated our child this time. And it honestly felt "right" having him there.

I was, and still am, so grateful we have people in our lives that have been so supportive through our loss, and this pregnancy. So, thank you again, to everyone who attended -- or even wanted to. It means the world to me.

So, to summarize, it's been a great week.

After the guests left the shower, I gave my husband a hug. We both got a little emotional. While still in his arms, I whispered, "Things are finally starting to feel 'right' again." And I felt him hold me a little tighter. <3

What We Missed

Dear Jasper & Bodhi,

I've been thinking of you more and more as we approach your birthday.. and the arrival of your baby brother.

I find myself waking, in tears, from bad dreams where I relive that day with you, or imagine losing your little brother in the same way. I wish I could express the depth of how much I still miss you.

In a few days, we'll be celebrating your brother with family and friends. It so pains me that I never got to celebrate you that way -- not in the way I so desperately wanted to. I didn't get to hear advice on how to raise two babies at once. I didn't get to make your nursery how I had envisioned it. I didn't get to see your loved ones pass you around with smiles on their faces. I didn't get to bring you home...

Still, as I daydream about those missed moments, I choke back the tears.

And I'm slowly coming to terms with the guilt. The guilt for failing you -- for my body not doing what it's built to do -- for not keeping you safe. I still struggle with not having a reason for any of it. At the same time, it helps the blame to fade away.. slow as it may be.

But I'm not the only one with guilt. Your father had a completely different take on it; blaming himself over the timing. Wondering to himself if he had proposed sooner, if we would have been married sooner, and conceived sooner.. would our first born(s) have lived?

We'll never know.

Sure, it's possible we would have had an uncomplicated pregnancy. But it's also possible we wouldn't have even had the chance to hold them for the moments we had with you. And either way, they wouldn't have been you. Meeting you both was the most beautifully painful moment of my life.. and I wouldn't give it up for anything short of more time with you.

We also wouldn't be expecting your brother now.

And what I know in my heart is that when I celebrate him, I celebrate you. You are not my past, or just a memory. All three of you are equally my children. Equally loved. And equally celebrated -- even if it doesn't outwardly look the same.

I celebrate you when I speak of you. I celebrate you when I have quiet moments of remembrance. I celebrate you by forgiving myself, and helping your father do the same.

I celebrate you by loving your father every day.

- Your Mother

Peanut Butter Jelly Time

If you were expecting something in a banana suit singing "Peanut Butter Jelly Time," I apologize.

This is a post about healing -- about a quirky hint even.

My husband and I wanted desperately to find a holiday tradition that would honor and remind us of Jasper and Bodhi. If it could include "Garby," all the better.

So I came up with this idea of getting an ornament each year that represents them to me. Angels aren't my thing. Birds would work, but it didn't feel quite right. I wanted something that reminded me of childhood, as well as each child individually. Something Garby would get excited about putting on our tree. Something he could understand without needing to grasp some overly deep symbolism.

Nobody will really 'get it' until Garby is born. But this is the ornament I just ordered (no tree to hang it on this year, but wanted it ordered by what would have been the twins' first Christmas). The goal is to find a similar one each year. :)

This Your First?

That is the question that has haunted me this entire pregnancy. From the ER to Urgent Care to well-meaning strangers. And now hospital tours.

As soon as I hear those words, my insides collapse.

"Is this your first?"

No matter how I answer, the conversation scrapes away at those wounds. On the rare occasion I've said "Yes," to avoid the awkward conversation, hoping the other party will just drop it, it turns into a weird blend of condescending cheer. "Oh, just wait. You'll see."

And then there are the times when I say, "No." Then I'm left wondering if they'll ask follow-up questions, or if I'm bound to explain my heartbreak all over again.

It hit me really hard last night.

My husband and I went to take a tour of the maternity/birthing area at the hospital. It was looking like we'd be the only people on the tour, but about 30 seconds before it started, another pregnant woman and her husband walked in.

As soon as we approached the tour guide, an older woman who seemingly had more trouble walking than either of us preggos, she immediately asked, "So, is this your first?"

I swallowed abruptly and simply said, "No."

She glanced back at me inquisitively. I knew she was used to mothers going on and on about their previous children. So, my grief and avoidance made me seem anti-social and/or rude.

She turned to the other woman, "No. This is our third, so we're excited."

We all head up in the elevator, and the tour goes as expected. Short and to the point. But as we go to leave, our tour guide starts picking away again -- even though I knew it was her version of casual conversation.

"So, where did you deliver your other children?"

The other woman answered first, "Well, one was in China. The other in Australia."

I took my cue and tried to make it seem funny, "Oh, ours were just in Indianapolis."

Was she going to drop it there? Of course not.

"Indianapolis? What hospital?"

Eh..

And just as we're about to leave, she turns to us again, "So how long were your labors last time?"

I feel like I can't catch my breath -- my pause allowing the other woman to answer first. I couldn't even muster a real answer and basically repeated what she had said.. then walked away.

I know I should be elated to be pregnant, and I am. But the very state of being pregnant causes a barrage of questions that hurt immeasurably. And it all feels like it's coming to a head as we approach the holidays. I can't tell you how many times the grief has flooded in so fast I felt like I was drowning.

My nephew's birthday party. Shopping for their Christmas gifts. Hanging up our stockings, but leaving Jasper's and Bodhi's in the box. The pain is so thick as I ponder what should have been their first Christmas.. just a handful of weeks away from their tragic birthday.

It's becoming increasingly hard not to lose myself in all those thoughts and things I had hoped for.

The only saving grace to last night was being able to cuddle with my husband, as he wrapped his arm around me and felt for our son's kicks, talking about the twins as we fell asleep.

The Easiest Choice

When you're about to get married, everyone tells you, "Marriage is hard work."

Four years ago, today, I was staying in a hotel room all by myself, with eager butterflies in my stomach.. wondering how our big day would go, how he was feeling, and desperately missing him.

These years have flown by, and I have to say "hard work" has not been my experience. We've been through some of the most difficult things a couple can go through -- that parents can go through. Life has been so hard in recent months. The kind of "hard" that steals your breath, keeps you awake at night, and changes you at your core. But the marriage was never hard, or even 'work.' Being married to this man is probably the easiest thing I've ever done.

Every day, the choice to love my husband is the easiest decision I make. So simple that it feels like a reflex.

Have we argued? Sure. About the best way to paint a room or what to have for dinner. Our "fights" last less than 10 minutes. And I can't recall a single time that I've left the house or gone to bed angry. And for us, that hasn't been difficult to accomplish. It's just who we are together.

What it comes down to is this. When you have a husband like mine.. who supports you, never doubts you, and will practically do anything to make you smile.. it's not hard to love him. It's nearly impossible not to.

To my husband,

This has undoubtedly been the most trying year of our lives. You have seen me at my absolute lowest -- too weak to move, and moments when I can barely breathe. You were the only thing that got me through those times. You never tried to stay on the fray of it -- supportive from the outside. You walked into the despair with me, and carried me out. Over and over again.

I will never be able to express how profoundly I felt the depth of your love during this journey.

On our wedding day, I told you, "I choose you. Every second.. of every day." And now that you've held our twins, and lovingly spoken to my 'baby bump' -- to our unborn son, it has never been so easy to choose you.

And just as I ended my vows, I say this again to you, "I'm not standing here to tell you how much I love you today.. I'm here to tell you how much I'll love you tomorrow... and to promise you all of my tomorrows."

It doesn't feel like four years have passed since our wedding day, but at the same time, it feels like I've known you -- like I've loved you -- forever. <3

Age of Viability

For someone who has never had to say goodbye to a child born too soon, "viability" is not a milestone they usually think of during pregnancy. But today marks 24 weeks, which is considered by most hospitals to be the "age of viability."

That means, that unlike with the twins -- where we just had to hold them and watch them pass on -- this little bean would feasibly stand a chance. They would intervene. It wouldn't be easy. There'd be steroid shots and lots of NICU time, but they would try. And the survival rate climbs steadily from this point on.

It's very hard to think that a few short weeks makes such a difference. That our twins were so close to being "viable" -- and yet so far away.

Because we've reached this critical milestone in the pregnancy with no problems, next week will be our last regular visit with the high risk doctors. They're doing a growth scan, and then sending me on my merry way, because as the last doctor put it, "There's no emergency procedure to be done now. Your measurements have only gotten better and better."

As elated as that makes me, it's also bittersweet. In a weird way, I was hoping for a definitive 'problem' to fix. I wanted a reason for why I lost the twins. A reason my body failed. I wanted something to blame. "Oh, you definitely have an incompetent cervix." or "Your uterus is hypersensitive."

Instead, nothing has been indicated as a clear problem. And it all goes back to what the doctor told me the morning after the twins died. "Sometimes this just happens with multiples."

"Just happens," is nearly impossible to accept. My babies died, just because. And I can't blame.. I can't fix.. "just because."

And I look now in the nursery closet, filled with supplies we had purchased for the twins. Sad that Jasper and Bodhi aren't here to use them, yet hopeful that "Garby" will give it new life.

24 weeks and counting, little guy. <3