I cried when a specialist told me at exactly 28 weeks that our twin boys would have to be born within 48 hours.
I cried with relief that the first chapter of this saga - which we had lived through for the previous month, since we'd discovered our little twin B had intrauterine growth restriction (IUGR) - would be ending. But I cried mostly with pride that my babies had hung in much longer than expected.
At 24 weeks, I'd been told that would they need to be delivered that week; medically they would be unable to do anything for them. But they held on.
After another very close call to deliver at 26 weeks, our pastors came that night and prayed for the boys.
But that night I felt I knew they would live, and the following day a scan of twin B's umbilical cord showed some improvement. Some extra time on the inside was squeezed out.
Christchurch's neonatal intensive-care unit was too full and I had to be flown to Wellington to deliver my twins. We were given an hour's notice and we were gone.
With about 20 people in the room, our boys Oscar James and Samuel Louis were born by emergency caesarean section at 28+2 weeks gestation, weighing in heavier than expected at 1190gm and 820gm, the weight of four packs of butter between them.
We were told they probably wouldn't cry on delivery as babies usually do, so when Oscar was born and the doctor said he was alive and a little shriek was heard, tears streamed down my face.
Little Sam made no noise, but was also alive and trying to breathe. They were immediately intubated and assessed by the amazing neonatal team. Oscar's nurse kindly rubbed his face against mine before putting him into the incubator, and as quickly as they'd arrived, they were gone, off to NICU with my husband Nathan following behind.
After a short visit on the way to the ward, I lay in bed wondering what the heck had happened. I had not even five months earlier learnt I was pregnant, later with twins, and was now in a different city with two very premature babies in intensive care, while I lay alone in a hospital bed with a surgical wound and a wounded heart.
Mercifully, our boys were strong from the start, just "stock-standard 28 weekers", the nurses would say, and we quickly learnt that was a really good thing. Some serious challenges lay ahead - mostly for me, to be honest. The boys just did their thing by growing.
I think all NICU mums who choose to breastfeed their preemies will be the only ones who understand just how hard it is to achieve. My milk didn't come in for a week, we were only able to have kangaroo care for an hour a day after they were five days old, and we could not attempt breastfeeding until many weeks later.
Every minute I wasn't with the boys I was attached to a breast pump. I pumped until I literally bled, doing the only thing I thought I could do for them.
Even now when people say at least you could get a good night's sleep each night, I will often swallow a mix of anger and tears because I never slept longer than three hours in order to maintain my supply and would have never thought that being at home in my bed was preferable to being with the boys and holding their little hands through the doors on the incubators.
Eventually, the milk came, and then I just about drowned in it. I had more milk than the boys could get down their tubes and that, coupled with exhaustion, was making me sick. Later when we were transferred to Hawke's Bay hospital and after a long period of trying to breastfeed babies with oxygen and inability to suck, three bouts of mastitis - two requiring hospital admission for IV antibiotics - and five months, I relented and dried my milk up.
Time seemed to both pass quickly and stand still in the hospital. Oscar coming off oxygen after about two months was a big day, as well as the boys coming out of their incubators into cots. Each weigh day brought glimpses of normalcy.
We spent five weeks in Wellington hospital and a further 11 weeks in Hawkes Bay hospital before bringing them home. Oscar had a NG feeding tube for another month while we dealt with coordination and reflux issues, and Samuel had oxygen, coming off it almost six months to the day he was born.
My days are now spent the same way all new mothers day are, keeping them fed, dry, happy and hopefully asleep for decent stretches. There are the odd little things we write off to their "preemie-ness", as well as follow-up appointments and ongoing worry about keeping them healthy.
My nana passed away three days before the boys were born. I never had an opportunity to grieve for her and I feel the same way about my pregnancy and the start our babies had - I haven't had time to process it. Maybe one day I will.
All I know is how grateful I am, to God, to the doctors and nurses, and to my husband, my family and my friends. When people ask how I have gotten through it, I say I don't know, but I would say it's probably because of all those mentioned above.
And I'm so grateful to my boys, for teaching me about strength and love and hope and about a preemie world I never knew, but now can never forget.
stuff.co.nz