I’ll never forget the unbelievable cocktail of emotions on the day our twins were born. Seeing them emerge, touching them for first time, and then watching the ventilators and symphony of sensors and other machines surround their precarious existence, I bounced back and forth between joy unlike I had ever experienced and a primal sense of dread and foreboding as I grasped for every possible action I could take to ensure their survival.

In the weeks that passed, the range of emotions continued as we celebrated each milestone in their development, and weathered set backs and false-positives of tests. Looking back, we’re oddly grateful for our NICU experience, both from the parenting skills we learned and the teamwork we practiced as a family. And yet, there’s no denying: the NICU takes a toll, no matter what the outcome.

The story’s profiled parent, Kim Roscoe, relates, “The NICU was very much like a war zone, with the alarms, the noises, and death and sickness. You don’t know who’s going to die and who will go home healthy.”

One of the most painful moments in my life was walking out of the hospital with Luca, celebrating his release, while feeling like I was abandoning Finnegan, who would remain in the NICU for a few more weeks before being released after another surgery and more ups and downs. When we finally had both of them home together, it felt we had been airlifted out of what was indeed a combat zone. Six months later, it seems like an eternity since our daily NICU watch caring for our little preemies while the monitors beeped incessantly around us.

As mentioned in the story, the March of Dimes runs a support community. “The most critical piece is to help prepare someone so they know what to expect and don’t fall into a world of frightening unknowns,” according to the March of Dimes’ family support director Liza Cooper.

That sharing of stories was the major motivator for us starting the Growing Twins blog, and writing posts such as this one is cathartic. Recently, a friend of ours gave birth to a baby girl nine weeks early, the same as when our twins were born (see: “This Week’s Walk Down Memory Lane.”) Through supporting her and her husband, we’ve been able to look back at our experience with fresh eyes, and are grateful for the chance to keep them both focused on the light at the end of the tunnel: bringing their preemie home from the NICU.

Are there long term impacts to us as parents as a result of our NICU experience? As a couple? As a family? To be sure, our twin boys are healthy and on track with their development, with no signs of long-term issues. But I still catch myself doubting my confidence and how I relate to each boy as an individual. I worry about over compensating as a parent, feeling like I need to protect them more than other parents because of their preemie history. But as one of our NICU nurses told me one day when I was particularly down facing what seemed like an ever-moving goal line of getting Finnegan home in the face of complications: “hey, he’s already forgotten all of this. You need to move past this as well.”

Easier said than done.

Watching her go through all this has been amazing, scary, and cathartic for me. My husband and I were lucky with our early pregnancy. We knew months in advance that our boys would be early because they were discordant. When I was admitted to the hospital on bed rest at 27 weeks my doctor said she’d be happy if I made it to 28 weeks. I held on until 30 weeks and 5 days (yes, almost exact to my friend’s pregnancy). In the months leading up to being admitted we had been on an emotional roller coaster ride of test after test. We had plenty of time and practice at preparing ourselves for our NICU babies. I’d read up on pumping to produce milk before the babies could be at breast. We had a stock of preemie clothes from both grandparents. We were halfway through our prepared childbirth classes and had tours of both hospitals’ NICUs. I’d even read a book on C-sections that was so scary (because it detailed every complication that might lead to a section) that I won’t recommend it to friends.

One can never be ready for what lies ahead for a preemie baby. But, knowing our boys would be early seems to have lessened our hardship tremendously. Of the 10 or more stories I’ve heard personally, I don’t know anyone else who knew their twins or singleton would arrive as early as they did (normal 3-4 week early twins aside).

My friend, the new mama, has seen many photos of our boys’ days in the NICU and read our other blog posts but we’re behind on telling many stories. I wanted her and her husband to be as prepared as I could lend them a hand to be. I shared with them what they could expect for the C-section and the first moments in the NICU – papa alone (mama in post-op) with his new tiny baby, being asked to sign papers while neonatal nurses, respitory therapists, and the neonatologist stabilize his fragile little girl. I can only imagine what it was like for David – I watched these vulnerable moments of a few dads in the NICU. Now, I’m trying to coach my friend through the first fumbling trials of pumping her milk.

Today, the NICU journey starts for our friends. There are the obvious reasons one doesn’t want to have that experience but we’ve gained a number of benefits from our time in the NICU. I just need to take the time to share all the stories. So, I’ll do what I can to get them out here; little by little with hopes that someone else may gain some peace in their own process of becoming a NICU parent.

Here’s to the new parents and their new baby girl. We love you and are so happy that everyone is healthy and safe. Welcome to the wild and wonderous ride of parenting.

Finn and Luca are six months old today!

We all want to say thank you for your support and well wishes that have kept us going. The boys are doing great and are growing like weeds. They are both rolling over now and talking and laughing, a lot! We couldn’t be happier.

Birth stats:

Finn 2 lbs 4 oz, 14.5 inches
Luca 3 lbs 8 oz, 16 inches

Current stats:

Finn 11 lbs 8 oz, 23.5 inches
Luca 12 lbs 10 oz, 24.5 inches

Photos : Finn on left and Luca on right in all but the bottom left

You just turned four months old, two months “corrected” age for gestation. You’ve been in our lives for four months so we’ll go with four. Finnegan, you just became an oxygen free man two weeks ago and have done nothing but grow since then. You both have been chatting us up for about a month and smiling and responding to our goofy expressions and oogling. We like to play a game of cheek, cheek, chin, and nose, poking each part and a lite sweep of your noses at the end always gets a smile. Luca, you just noticed your brother a few days ago when he was crying. You looked at him and started to talk to him. It was so amazing. Do it again, k?

You are both pretty much “sleeping through the night” at six and seven hour stretches. Although, you’ve both been having gas pains around 3:30am. I can’t wait for this to pass – your pediatrician says it will.

I had to go back to work after five months – one in the hospital on bed rest, then recovery, and your care. It has been nice to get back to work and amazing what I still remember, as though I’d only been gone a week. Today, the sleepiness set in and I only wanted to be home snuggling with you two. The first day I came home from work, Luca, you let me know you weren’t too happy I had been gone by starting up some fake cries when I said hello to you. You are both trying the fake cries with us occasionally and we are only a little sorry that it makes us laugh. Granny Sue is Nanny Sue right now and we are working on hiring a full time nanny. I’m a bit scared to leave you little men with a new person. It’s so hard to know you’ll be learning and growing under someone else’s care and not mine. But, we’ll catch up and make trouble every night when I get home. Promise!

The introduction started the day our twins boys were born. Returning home from the hospital, I brought the two infant hats the boys wore in their first hours to Maggie the dog to sniff. In the days that followed, we placed cloth diapers in their NICU isolettes to accumulate their smell and then bring them home for Maggie. Later, as we began dressing them in their little preemie outfits, we’d bring home the laundry for Maggie to lie on in her bed. We even played videos of the boys on Lisa’s laptop while I rested in the crib, hoping to associate for Maggie their crying with the nursery.

Lisa and I maintained a weeks-long conversation about whether or not “she knew.” Our schedule of nightly vigils at the NICU kept us away from the house a lot, and the dog, renowned for her seperation anxiety (”Oh no, my humans are NEVER coming back!”), was starting to piddle in the house and seemed like a nervous wreck every night upon our return home.

Acknowledging the special bond between my wife and the dog she brought to our relationship, we decided that I would be the one to introduce Luca to her once we got him home, while Lisa attended to Maggie in order to mitigate any jealousy.

The magic of that night was unforgettable. After a gourgeous sunset on a cold January evening, our little guy slept his way across the threshold of our home in his car seat and blankets.

I had put Maggie out in the backyard, while Lisa introduced Luca to the bedroom he’ll soon be sharing with his twin brother Finnegan. After a diaper change and with a bottle warming for his next feed, I took hold of our little guy and sat in the glider, once belonging to Lisa’s grandmother, and freshly reupholstered for us by her mom. Lisa let the dog in the house. Maggie, knowing something was up, dashed around the house in an attempt to accumulate evidence of what she had been missing.

I called her into the room, and she came, with Lisa in hot pursuit. With a calm voice praising her for how good she was, I commenced the introduction while Lisa kept a hand on her. Interested and alert, she responded to my extending our baby boy out for her inspection with a few sniffs and finally a lick on Luca’s cheek. Relief.

Were we concerned Maggie would react negatively to having a “sibling?” Yes- as a cow dog, she’s had a history of having to be watched- more than one visiting child at our house has had a heel nipped at. But so far, Maggie seems to be recognizing the new member of our pack as a new responsibility for her. As a working dog, having someone to take care of and watch out for seems to be just what she needed- she looks to me when he cries for affirmation, and steals affectionate licks of our new pup at every twin.

For information and tips about how to introduce pets to your babies, check out this article from the Humane Society.

Our joke now is that she really is gonna be surprised when twin number two comes home.

“If we come in and find you guys sleeping with the baby in the bed with you, yeah, we pretty much take the kid back” – our nurse giving us an idea of the bottom of the preemie graduation  test bell curve.

“Only 10 (mls of 55 in the bottle)? What’s the deal tonight, I mean, this morning?” Lisa attempting to start a dialog with Luca, revealing a certain confusion as to time. Luca, surprisingly, chose not to answer.

“It’s a good thing you seem to be able to burp yourself kid.” Lisa, commenting on Luca’s apparent mastery of gaseous functions.

So… it’s now 5:45… Luca seems to be on track for another successful feed. At 6am, our nurse is set to come in and weigh him… fingers crossed we’re going to get past the finish line with flying colors.

One bright side of the NICU has started to emerge. Our preemie twin is like a swiss clock. Sleeping in his crib beside us, we awoke to Luca’s squirms about ten minutes before my alarm was set to go off. We turned on the lights, changed a diaper and got him going with his feed.

After another diaper change (man can this kid produce), some walking around for burping and he’s back to bed.

And so are we…

Like the runner who turns the last corner and spots the finish line, in disbelief from fatigue but with a side helping of euphoria, it was the call I’d waited weeks to receive. Our first twin was coming home.

Luca, now 6 weeks and three days old (37 weeks old equivalent gestation), has for the last 48 hours taken every feeding from a bottle, and has finished every bottle no problem.

So here we are, playing house in a hotel-like hospital room, complete with a fold-out couch, TV, and bathroom, mere steps away from the beeping sensors of the NICU, with our little man Luca. The 11:15pm alarm went off just as we were starting to doze off, signaling the first of our feedings for what feels like our preemie final exam. With a quick diaper change reminiscent of a NASCAR pit stop, a wide-awake baby was passed to Mom, and a warm bottle now rests firmly in Luca’s mouth.

If all goes well (Luca gains weight, continues feeding, Mom and Dad don’t suffer some sort of panic attack) he’ll go home sometime tomorrow after his final NICU stats check.

“Bwamp.” Loud burp. Time to burp this kid and finish off the final 20ml of his milk…

…Mom now demonstrating her ninja burping techniques as passed on to her by the NICU nurses…

5mls left… come on kid, stay awake so we can finish this off.

In the weeks surrounding the holidays, we felt very good about our boys’ progress- steadily decreasing oxygen requirements, increased feedings and weights, tests passed with flying colors. Without wanting to jinx ourselves, we began talking about preparations for bringing them home (CPR classes, installing the car seats, etc.) Despite this, the warned about downturn came.

While “rounding” with one of the nurses (the term describing the movement from one bedside to the next for the collection of patient status,) we welcomed the doctor with the pride that can only come from being the parents of twins. And then came the cold water.

“Here we have the twins. Finnegan and Luca. They eat a little, they sleep, one of them still needs oxygen, they’re not very alert. All in all, very immature babies. Your twins are like slugs.”

Kind of hard to take, but it was medicine that needed to go down.

Last night while holding Finn, the reality that our adventure in the NICU is far from over set in. Our boys are preemies. They are only 36-months old gestationally. We need to be patient. Finn in particular has gone from low-flow oxygen back to 2 liters of high-flow. A recent x-ray showed some fluid remaining in his lungs and he’s once again been prescribed a diuretic to address his edema.

Luca, as if trying to slow down to wait for his brother, has slacked off on how much milk he’ll take from his bottle. In the last 36 hours, it’s as if he’s awakened with a new set of sensory tools- his eyes are open more often and he constantly scans his surroundings. Our theory is that this is a new distraction for him at feeding time- he’s so busy looking around that he can’t concentrate on suck-swallow-breath.

While I held Finn last night, attempting with limited effect to sheild his ears from the noisy monitors and activity of the NICU, my eyes well up with tears and I held him closer. “I’ve got to get these boys home and away from this place,” I thought to myself with a heavy heart. And then I remembered another saying our doctor uses regularly to describe our lessons in parenting, “You’re learning patience.”

In the time it took me to assimilate this custom of my newly adopted place, the team had unpacked our two tiny boys, placed them on open tables and blankets underneath heat lamps and had attached all sorts of wires and tubes. The cocktail of emotions I felt that day will never be forgotten: intense pride of the two beautiful babies that were joining our family, dread of their seemingly dire condition, and overwhelming love and concern from the knowledge from deep in my gut that I would do anything to bring these boys home healthy.

My feelings toward this strange place were very mixed in those first days. I knew intellectually that our preemies were receiving the best care possible at the hands of some amazing professionals, and yet deep inside I harbored anxiety toward the bright lights, the tubes and the situation we found ourselves in. “This just isn’t normal,” a remorse all the books and people we’d talked to ahead of the delivery warned us we would feel. As excited as I was each time I entered the NICU to see my boys, the place itself I subconsciously resented.

In the days that followed, Lisa was able to meet our twins in the NICU, and we both settled in for the twists and turns, ups and downs of life as we waited for our boys to progress. We met nurse after caring nurse, learned all about the monitors and how to read them, and set a routine in our new “home” with nightly vigils and mid-day check ins.

Fast forward four weeks to the holidays. At a Christmas Eve church service, we found ourselves in one of the most publicly social settings we’d experienced since Lisa went into the hospital. “How are the boys?” “Oh, you mean they’re not home?” “When will the hospital let you take them home?” All perfectly well-meaning questions, but it was hard for us to answer these questions knowing we’d never be able to bridge the gap between their polite understanding of our boy’s plight and our intimate knowledge of the world of beeps and lights that was the NICU.

Driving to the hospital that evening after the service we talked about this gap, and how, while we felt rejuvinated by the service which included a blessing of our two boys by name, we felt relief that we were “heading home.”

That evening, we hung little stockings for our boys in the NICU, and placed a wrapped present with each of them (one in a crib, the other in an isolette) in by now familiar surroundings with our loving “family” of our boys’ caregivers. After feeding we put both of them to bed with whispers of, “get some sleep so Santa can come and bring you gifts.”

It was a Christmas I’ll never forget.