Car rides and rainbows

A few more thoughts for tonight...

We've had a week of rapidly changing weather, and as Patrick and I are driving back and forth to Hershey each day, it will often alternate between downpours and sunshine, and occasionally it will do both things at the same time. It's been prime rainbow weather every day.

Only I haven't seen one.

I'd find myself making little deals in my head with God in the car. "Okay," I'd think. "If I see a rainbow, that means Brigid's going to be fine." And then I'd crane my neck all over looking for one, all the while reasoning with myself that even if I don't see a rainbow, she could still be fine and realizing that I could see one and she could die tomorrow. I'm testing God, I'd think, and then I'd feel ashamed of my silliness. He doesn't owe me a sign. He's told me enough about himself for me to have faith in this situation, whether or not I see a rainbow.

It's not faith that Brigid will be okay that I'm called to have. If that were the case, and she died, my faith would be shattered.

Rather, it's faith in God's goodness. It's faith in the fact that His ways are not our ways. That all things work together for the good of those who love Him. It's faith that God is sovereign and knows us and loves us and sees our situation. Faith that we're still in the palm of His hand. It's faith that if it's His will for her to heal and grow, she will. And if it's not, we'll still be okay. It's faith that He knows more than we do. Faith that He is trustworthy and that He loves our baby girl even more than we do.

This is the faith that we are called to have. This is the faith that I have to exercise each day, as surely as an athlete exercises his heart and muscles for an endurance trial. God is so good to give us our daily bread - the strength to get through each day, even when we don't know what is at the end of the road.

I'll still crane my neck to look for the rainbows.

But not because they have anything to do with Brigid.

Image: http://climate.met.psu.edu/www_prod/data/frost/frosttraining.php#Optics

Developments

So much has happened since my last post, I almost don't know where to begin.

Let's start with Wednesday, May 4th. At 4:30 in the morning, I rolled over in bed and felt a gush. My water broke after exactly eight weeks on bed rest. The boys were sleeping, but I woke Patrick and told him we needed to get to the hospital. Our neighbor came to stay with the boys and we headed to the hospital, where it was confirmed that my amniotic sac had indeed broken, but I wasn't dilated at all, and I was admitted. I was 27 weeks and 5 days pregnant and I was scared to death.

I spent several days at the hospital, on magnesium, antibiotics, and IV fluids, with minimal contractions, trying to keep baby Brigid safe inside for as long as possible. Every day, the perinatologist would come into the room with a portable ultrasound machine, check on Brigid, and say, "Looks like you're going to be pregnant for another day!" She was doing well, moving around and not showing signs of stress, other than her lack of amniotic fluid. Occasionally, I'd have some contractions. They were painful with no fluid in there to act as a cushion, and it was also very painful when Brigid would move around. My uterus felt bruised and sore.

Patrick brought the boys in to visit me a couple of times and a thoughtful friend had some photos taken of them and framed for me for Mother's Day since she knew I'd be spending it in the hospital. They brought that to my room on Saturday the 7th and it was so good to spend time with them. I'd missed them so much. Being on bed rest at home was bad enough, but being on bed rest in the hospital was lonely and difficult. I had incredible nurses, who were all so caring and kind. I wore monitors continually that would check for contractions and track Brigid's heartbeat and everything was looking really good. For four days.

Sunday morning, May 8th at around 4:00 a.m., I had a few contractions. I'd had 3 in 30 minutes. This wasn't many, but it was more than I'd been having. I decided to call my nurse to let her know because sometimes the monitor wouldn't pick them up. When Kate, the nurse, came in, she began moving the heart monitor around to find the baby's heartbeat because sometimes Brigid would move and we'd have to relocate it. It usually only took a few seconds to find it again. But this time was different. This time, it took what felt like an eternity. And as Kate is moving and pressing the monitor into my uterus to find the heart beat, I kept contracting. They were coming about every five minutes now and Kate put me on an oxygen mask so I didn't hyperventilate as I tried to breathe through each one with no pain medication. I was panicking because we couldn't find a heartbeat, panicking because I knew that I was probably going into labor right now, and panicking because Patrick was not there with me. Finally, Kate found the right spot and we heard Brigid's strong heartbeat. I grabbed her arm, sobbed, "Oh Kate!" and burst into tears. She did too. It was one of the scariest moments of my life.

I called Patrick to say that things were progressing, but Kate had put a call into the doctor, who said to try some nubain for the pain and to see if that helped the contractions to stop, so I told him that maybe I was wrong and I'd call him back if he needed to come in. It only took a few minutes for Kate and I to realize that we were never going to have time for nubain. Contractions came faster and stronger, and I texted a one-word message to Patrick: "Come" as multiple nurses found their way into my room in response to the dinosaur-like noises coming from my mouth. People were pressing the monitor into my contracting uterus and I kept pushing their hands away. I had the oxygen mask on and someone telling me to look at her and breathe while she held my hand, and then the doctor came in and wanted to check to see if I was dilating at all. I wasn't anymore. I had dilated completely and Brigid's little buns were trying to make their way into the world. The doctor decided she wanted to try to deliver her breech and started getting the room ready for that, but I insisted on the c-section that our perinatologist had said we were going to need, so off we went to the OR. I was petrified and spent the ride between the rooms praying out loud. I'm sure my nurses thought I was crazy.

At 5:30 a.m. on May 8, 2011 - Mother's Day - Brigid Eileen Tully and Fiona Jane Tully were born. Patrick arrived at the hospital just as Brigid was born, and was able to follow her right to the NICU while I recovered from surgery. She looked good, weighed 2 pounds 11 ounces, and was 15 inches long. In the recovery area, Patrick and I were able to see and hold Fiona. It was difficult to see her, though I'm sure some of my medication from the surgery made it a little easier for me. The nurses were very kind and offered to make some hand and foot prints for us to keep and to take some photos for us. One was even able to make plaster impressions of her hands and feet. They put everything into a box for us to take home and look at when we're ready. I haven't been ready yet. Jack and PJ knew that Fiona had died and that she now lives in heaven, but they had no idea that her body was still in there. We're happy to keep it that way for a good long while.

Brigid did relatively well in the NICU of our local hospital until the day I was to be discharged, when the carbon dioxide levels in her body reached dangerously high levels and she had to be airlifted to a higher level NICU in Hershey, Pa. Today, she is twelve days old and has been at Hershey for eight days. She has had some issues, mainly with her lungs, and continues to have difficulty getting rid of the CO2 in her respiration. She has required very little, if any, excess oxygen, which is unusual for preemies, but we are learning that NICU life is, as bedrest life was, one day at a time. She has some good days and some bad days, but fortunately, we've been able to go and visit her every day. She has amazing nurses and doctors and respiratory therapists taking very good care of her.

She is a beautiful little girl with a thick head of dark hair. It's hard to capture her size in a photo because it's not easy to use something universal to compare her to. It's ideal to keep her in a dark, quiet environment that is womb-like, and flash photography is not conducive to that, but we do have a few photos from her time in the original NICU from the hospital where she was born.

This post is so very long, but we are thankful for your thoughts and prayers and would be grateful if you would continue to keep our little Brigid in your prayers. This has been such a trying time. I find myself somewhat detached from her - like I'm visiting someone else's child in the hospital - and I'm sure that some of that is good when I have to leave her each day. I felt bonded to the boys after their first few days of life, though, and I don't totally feel that yet with Brigid. I can't wait to be able to hold her more and get to know her better. We have been through so much together so far, she and I, and we are praying that she would continue to show that she is living up to her name - Brigid the Strong. She is so strong for such a tiny person!

Another good report

We had another appointment at CHOP yesterday to check on Brigid's progress, and we're happy to report that she's looking even better now than she was a month ago.

In fact, from the obstetrical standpoint, we have been discharged from CHOP altogether. She is growing well, looking strong and healthy, and even the chorioamniotic separation seemed to be looking better - either closing or repairing - and doesn't seem to be a major issue anymore.

Only her heart is not 100% normal, and still it's looking better than it did at our last appointment. The valves are no longer leaking at all, and the ventricles seem to be functioning better. The only remaining issues are that the wall between the ventricles seems to be slightly weakened and the right ventricle appears a little "bulbous" in shape. Her heart is slightly enlarged still, but the hope is that all of these things would continue in their current trend and would heal over time. We will have one more appointment with fetal cardiology in a month, and if things are continuing to improve, that will likely be our last visit to CHOP altogether.

It was seven weeks ago today that we learned that our twins had TTTS. That has meant seven weeks of bed rest. Seven weeks of Patrick shouldering the majority of the childcare and housework, in addition to his job.

I've had two hospital stays - the first two of my life, besides the days following the birth of our boys. We have had good news, bad news, hopes answered, hopes dashed, reassurances and disappointments. We've cried through every doctor's appointment, good or bad, and are still not feeling one hundred percent confident that we'll be adding a healthy baby Brigid to our family in the next few months, though that confidence is growing more and more.

Patrick and I talked yesterday about how difficult this experience must be for people who do not have a faith in God. How sad to go through this with no hope for being reunited with little ones who have died, without trusting that there is a reason for this suffering - that it will make us stronger and bring us closer to each other and closer to the Lord. We have felt the prayers - of family, friends, and people we don't even know - carrying us through this difficult time. They bring us peace and comfort where we would otherwise feel overwhelmed and full of sorrow. Thank you for praying for us and for our baby girl! Thank you for doing our laundry, for cleaning our home, for mowing our lawn, for caring for our children, for sending us care packages, for bringing us meals, for checking in with us to see what we might need before you go out to do an errand. We are humbled, grateful, and so very blessed.

And we're pretty sure that we couldn't have gotten this far without your help.

Days in Waiting

It's clear to me that the Lord is trying to teach me to put each day in His hands.

After having some contractions on and off this past weekend, we asked a neighbor to come and stay with our boys once they were all in bed on Sunday night and Patrick and I headed into the hospital. It was a scary time. I was crampy and contracting fairly regularly and we were worried.

Once I was taken back to triage, they put me on the contraction monitor and could see that they were coming at a steady pace. The first order of business was to get them to stop. The nurse gave me a shot of terbutaline, which is appropriately named because it made me feel like my heart was in turbo mode, and it wasn't until after she'd administered it and left the room that I thought to ask what it might do to little Brigid's heart, which certainly doesn't need any more issues. Shaky and feeling weird from the medication, I sat there looking at Patrick and fearing that this was going to be it. We'd deliver not only our deceased baby, but our live baby at a pre-viable age and have to hold her while the doctors were unable to do anything to help. It is my biggest fear right now.

The ultrasound tech came in to measure my cervix to see if the contractions were serving to shorten it and advance labor, and from the measurements she took, it seemed that way. I started to panic a little.

I was admitted for overnight observation and Patrick went back to the house to relieve our kind neighbor since it was now almost midnight. They hooked me up to IV fluids, gave me another medication to stop the contractions called Procardia, and hooked me up to the fetal heart monitor and the contraction monitor. Then they suggested I try to get some sleep.

How?

That was Sunday night. Since then, contractions have seemed to stop and then restarted a couple of times, I've gone off my IV and then had to go back on, I've increased the frequency and then the dosage of the Procardia. I've had an ultrasound to confirm that Brigid is doing okay and that my cervix was not shortening like we'd thought. I closed my eyes for a little while this morning, and, just as I'd had a brief vision of the Lord welcoming baby Fiona into his arms a few weeks ago, I had another this morning of a nurse bringing a healthy baby girl to my bedside, and it gave me hope. Thanks to a sweet nurse who took some time this afternoon to pull up a stool beside my bed and ask me what I was thinking about or afraid of, I learned today of a baby boy who was born in this hospital at 23 weeks and is now a thriving two-year-old. She wears his photo on her name badge to remind her why she does what she does every day. She sat and asked about our story and cried with me as I recounted all we've been through in the past four weeks. She was so very reassuring and encouraging, as I've had lots of time alone in this hospital bed to think and worry about things the past few days.

It's now Wednesday night. I have had only five contractions all day, and the doctor seems to think that I should be able to go home on this medication, because, even though the dosage makes me feel very strange since they've increased it, it is working. I miss my home. I miss my boys. If you can believe it, I miss cooking and grocery shopping and running the vacuum (especially since we just got a new one and I haven't gotten to use it yet)!

We are, as we have been from the start, in waiting. That can be frustrating at times, but it's also somehow peaceful and reassuring knowing that things are not in our own hands. There are things I can do: staying in bed, drinking 200 ounces of fluid per day (!) and taking my medication. But the outcome is in the hands of our trustworthy and all powerful heavenly Father, who works all things together for our good and loves us very much. In happy times, when things are going well, it's easy to forget Him as the giver of all good things, but during these days of uncertainty, I feel myself drawing close to Him for comfort and peace. While I am often tempted to fear and worry, there are more times that I feel close to Him and confident that He is more than able to bring us a healthy baby girl.

But for now, we wait.

Some good news

There's our beautiful baby girl.

Patrick and I had a follow-up visit at CHOP today, two weeks out from the laser surgery, and were unsure what we might learn. Last week, the cardiologist was really hoping to see some improvement and instead saw that things looked a little worse one week after the surgery, so we were just praying that there would be some small step in the right direction this week.

We saw the OB technician for our anatomy scan first, and she was happy to tell us that Brigid was measuring right on track for her dates, whereas before she had been measuring a little large for her dates because of the excess fluid her body was trying to process. Her abdomen had been enlarged, and this week it looked just right. She looked beautiful, and both the technician and the OB specialist seemed encouraged.

Then we had our cardiology scan, which checked the blood flow in her brain, her umbilical cord, and her heart. The technician takes a series of doppler measurements, which show up as waves on the screen, but of course we had no idea how to interpret these and 30+ minutes of wave readings had us biting our lips wondering if they were better or worse.

They brought us into the consultation room afterward to meet with the doctor, and we just prayed yet again that she'd have made a change in the right direction. The doctor smiled as he told us that he saw significant improvement over what we had seen last week. He explained that there is still some mild thickening, and a little bit of leakage across the valves, but when I asked, "But it is looking a little bit better?" he said, "Not just a little bit - she's about 90 percent of the way to where we want her to be." Patrick and I just grabbed each other's hands and said, "Thank you, God!" The doctor explained that if we had continued where we had been last week, he'd have suggested we might want to deliver the baby at CHOP for the extra cardiac care she would need, but that this was such a significant change in the right direction that he didn't feel we needed to come back for another month and possibly not at all after that if things still looked good.

I am still on bed rest for the remainder of the pregnancy because of the separation of her amniotic sac, but we are thanking the Lord for answered prayers and a good report for our baby girl!

Not quite out of the woods yet

In fact, I'm thinking we're actually going to be living IN the woods for a while. We can pitch a tent, keep the food up high in a bear box, and sing songs around the campfire. Care to join us?

We had our follow up appointment at CHOP today, one week after my surgery, and while we hoped to see leaps and bounds of improvement in baby Brigid, what we actually saw was not too different from the scan we had the day after the surgery. Her ventricles in her heart (the bottom two chambers that do the actual "pumping" work) are thickened and a little weakened from having had to handle so much excess blood, and her valves are not closing as well as they should for the same reason. The cardiology team will follow me weekly in hopes of seeing improvement, and there is a medication that I can take that can help her heart (which is amazing to me), if it does not improve well enough over time. She looked beautiful, though, and was moving all over. I've been feeling her kick and move so much more since they removed the excess fluid and it's been a reassuring feeling that's reminding me every day that we just need to take things one day at a time. Every day that I carry her and feel those kicks is a blessing.

The scan also showed something that we knew was a possible effect of the surgery. That is, that my amniotic sac has detached from the chorion it is usually fused to, and fluid has gotten behind it. This does not really affect the baby at all, I am told; she has enough fluid for herself. The risk is that it gives me a greater potential for premature labor, and so I am to stay on bed rest for the entire remainder of the pregnancy. The longer this period is, of course, the better. This is quite daunting, but again, something we'll have to handle one day at a time.

We are so grateful for meals, childcare and offers of helping with chores and errands that have been pouring in. It is incredibly humbling to have someone over to your home for the first time and to watch them vacuum your living room while you're sitting on the couch. Patrick and I like to be self-sufficient, both individually and within our family. "No thanks - we can handle it!" But this may be part of the lesson that the Lord is trying to teach us - to humble ourselves and ask others to help us, because the reality is, we don't have another choice right now.

Bittersweet

To say that we have had an emotional week would be the understatement of the decade.

Patrick and I had an appointment last Wednesday, the 9th, to see our twins for the first time since my 9 week ultrasound, pictured in the last post. We knew we were having identical twins and couldn't wait to find out if we were adding two little girls or two little boys to our family. What we learned from the ultrasound, however, would change our lives.

The twins looked beautiful to me. Both were moving around and it looked at one point like they were facing each other, each with their arms reaching out to the other. The technician was kind, but a bit tight-lipped, skirting around some questions I had and spending a lot of time looking at "Twin A's" heart in particular. When she spent significantly less time on "Twin B," I became suspicious that something might be wrong. The doctor came in shortly after and told us that our babies were very sick and in danger. They needed immediate intervention if they were to have any hope of survival. He diagnosed us with something called Twin to Twin Transfusion Syndrome (TTTS), and said he would like us to be seen at Children's Hospital of Philadelphia as quickly as possible.

TTTS occurs when there are abnormal, unbalanced vascular connections between twins who share a placenta. The arteries of one twin (the "donor") pump into the veins of the other (the "recipient") and both twins are in danger. What I experienced physically was a huge increase in the size of my uterus over a short period of time that I did not know was not normal for twins. I was very large and very uncomfortable. This happens when, in an effort to process all the extra blood, the recipient urinates much more frequently than normal and makes excess amniotic fluid. The donor twin, however, had very little fluid and was sort of "stuck" to the side of my uterus. She did, however, have a visible bladder, which was a good sign.

Patrick and I spent a lot of time crying and went home feeling a little numb. I was sad that we came away from the appointment learning about this terrible syndrome and yet still not knowing whether the babies were girls or boys. We also had no ultrasound photos of our babies. It was a very empty feeling. I called the doctor the next day and asked him if he was able to see the gender of the babies, and he told us they were girls. It felt good to learn that and we tried optimistically to imagine our family with two little girls in it.

We reached out to the TTTS Foundation, letting them know what we learned and asking for information and help. Mary, the founder, was wonderful and supportive and called to answer our questions and to offer us hope. She suggested I remain on bedrest until our appointment at CHOP on the following Monday and mentioned to be aware of an even greater increase in fluid. She also suggested that we name our babies so that we didn't have to just keep referring to them as "donor" and "recipient" or "Baby A" and "Baby B." We decided to name our donor baby Fiona, which means "fair," and our recipient baby Brigid, which means "strong."

Friday night into Saturday, I felt the increase in fluid that Mary was referring to. I had much more pressure under my right rib, felt a little lightheaded, and was really having a hard time breathing. I knew I'd been having some anxiety attacks from the upset of our diagnosis, but this was something more. On Saturday morning, we decided it was best to go into the hospital. Unfortunately, this was also the day of my little sister's wedding. My parents came to get the boys to bring them to the wedding and Patrick and I went into the hospital.

I was seen by the OB on call and we learned that our perinatologist was in his office and would be able to do an ultrasound to see what had changed since Wednesday. What he saw was actually an improvement. Our donor twin appeared to be moving around more and to have some more fluid in her amniotic sac. This was encouraging, but because she was moving more, he was also able to see her umbilical cord better and to determine that it looked rather fragile. It was a velamentous insertion into the placenta, which means that rather than inserting directly into the mass of the placenta, the vascular connections of the cord extended off the very edge of the placenta and went along the surface of the sac's membrane before connecting to the baby. This could be contributing to baby Fiona's poor growth, as she was much smaller than her twin sister.

We went home slightly more hopeful and anxious for our appointment at CHOP, where we could get a better idea of what we were up against and determine a plan of action.

Monday's appointment at CHOP consisted of hours of testing. Ultrasound echocardiograms for the babies, genetic counseling, more anatomical ultrasounds and finally a consultation with the doctor. We could see that little Fiona had no more fluid around her and her bladder was no longer visible. It was evident that her heart was struggling from the syndrome, as was Brigid's, which was overworked and straining. The tests were overwhelming and exhausting, but the staff and technicians were all very sympathetic and encouraging to us. One even printed out some photos of the two girls for us, which were both sad and beautiful. I put them in a folder and have not been able to look at them since. Seeing those babies struggling in there and just wanting to reach in and help them or hold them was so frustrating and upsetting.

During our consultation with the doctor at the end of the day, we learned that not only did we have TTTS, but that it was complicated by something called Intrauterine Growth Restriction (IUGR), which is what happens when a baby has only a small portion of the placenta, as our little Fiona did. The doctor suggested that she actually only had less than 10% and that she was already showing indications of brain damage as a result of the lack of blood supply. He told us what our options were: we could do nothing, in which case our babies had less than a 5% chance of survival; we could terminate the pregnancy altogether, which was not an option for us; we could "selectively terminate" Fiona since she was already so severely damaged, giving Brigid a better chance at survival, which was also not an option; or we could have a surgery to stop the abnormal blood flow between the two babies. This surgery was going to be the best chance at saving both of them, and for us, it was the only option. The doctor said he'd like to do the surgery the next day because of the urgency of the situation, and told us that if Fiona did not survive until then, not only could they not do the surgery, but it was likely that Brigid would die as well. If Fiona survived and if the surgery was able to help her, he warned us that she would likely be born with severe neurological problems, including cerebral palsy or worse.

That was one of the most difficult nights of my life.

Sleep did not come easily. I prayed for my babies. I prayed for the doctors. I prayed that Fiona would survive until the surgery and even beyond the surgery. I slept fitfully and woke very early in hopes of feeling some kicks that would give me an indication that the babies made it through the night. Once I did, I prayed they could hold on for a few more hours until the surgery.

We returned to CHOP and they got me ready for the surgery. Just before I went to the OR, they did one last ultrasound to determine that both babies had indeed made it through the night, and they had! The procedure is an amazing one: the doctors insert a 4mm wide instrument into the uterus that has both a camera and a laser on it. They map out all of the connections between the babies on the surface of the placenta and determine which ones are the unbalanced (vein to artery) ones. Then they use the laser to cauterize all of these connections to ensure that each baby is only getting her own flow of blood to and from the placenta. I was only under a twilight sedation, so I did have some awareness of what was happening, but I didn't really feel any pain, just some discomfort. After the surgery, they also took out some of the excess amniotic fluid from Brigid's sac. They removed 2.5 liters and my stomach was half its size! It was remarkably quick - only about an hour and a half - and the doctors were so encouraging and compassionate. I went back to my room and slept for most of the afternoon. They kept me overnight and would do another ultrasound after 24 hours to see how the babies were responding.

The time went slowly and, knowing the babies experienced the same sedation I did, I didn't feel many kicks to let me know they were okay. It was frightening and yet we felt a peace, knowing that we did everything that we possibly could do and the rest was in God's hands. We knew he loved our babies even more than we did. For a few minutes, I closed my eyes and I had a vision of Jesus welcoming our little Fiona into heaven, and then the technician came in to do an ultrasound.

I watched the technician's face, looking for any sign of what she was seeing on the screen, but couldn't tell. Then she went to get the doctor and his face was a little easier to read. He seemed encouraged and then dismayed. "Did we lose the donor," I asked. "Yes," he said, compassionately. He showed me the screen and told me that Brigid looked to be showing some improvement already, but he also showed me that little Fiona's heart was no longer beating. The range of emotions was difficult to process. Sorrow over the loss of our little one, thankfulness that she was able to hold on until the surgery, encouragement that Brigid seemed to be doing better, fear that there was a chance that we could still lose Brigid in the days and weeks to come. Patrick and I held each other and cried. It was so terribly bittersweet. I asked the doctor what would happen to Fiona, and he said that she will just stay until Brigid is ready to be born. Thinking about what that day will be like is terribly overwhelming and for now, I try not to.

I had to stay in the hospital for a little longer to finish my dosing of post-surgery antibiotics, and then we went home. I am on fairly strict bed rest now (only up to use the bathroom and shower), hoping and praying that our little Brigid gets stronger. Having our boys here is like medicine for our aching hearts. We have been so overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support from our friends - offering childcare, bringing meals, helping with groceries. It is very hard for my Type A controlling personality to sit on the couch and watch others run the house or to delegate to people who are here and asking how they can help, but I think I'm going to have to get better at it for at least the next two or three weeks.

The whole experience has been surreal. We were not trying to have another baby right now, but we learned that we were. Then we learned that we were having twins. We learned they were identical and that felt special. Identical twins is something that happens to other people, not to me, but here we were. Then we learned that we had this syndrome and I was going to have in utero surgery and that, too, seemed surreal. Losing a twin makes it feel like that specialness has been taken away. The dressing them alike, comments from strangers - all that has been taken away and it feels like a void even though they haven't even been born yet. It's only the second time I get to use the "twins" tag on a blog post, and yet, it's the last.

I will be going back to CHOP on Tuesday for a follow-up appointment and to determine how well Brigid is improving. Knowing that she has almost the entire placenta is both sad and encouraging. Having to tell the boys what happened was very difficult, and I knew Jack would take it very hard. He was so excited about having twins, and he was especially thrilled to learn that they were girls. His innocent questions have been so hard to answer, and he is acting out in a way that shows he is still having a hard time processing everything.

I'm praying that God will heal Jack's little heart. I'm praying that Patrick will have the patience and stamina to do his work and to take on more of the housekeeping and childcare as well. I'm praying that little Brigid's heart would continue to show improvement and that she would grow strong and healthy enough for a full term pregnancy. And I'm praying that our hearts would heal as well and that our faith would be strengthened. We feel the sting of our loss but are trying to stay positive and encouraged by Brigid's improvement, trusting that her future rests in God's hands as well.

It's hard not to dwell on the what ifs. What if we had caught the TTTS sooner? What if we go on to lose Brigid too? We are hopeful. We are prayerful. We are anxious. But we know that God is sovereign and He is good, and His ways are not our ways. We are also encouraged to trust that one day, we will get to meet our little Fiona in heaven - and so will her twin sister and her big brothers.

Catching up...

Su, this one's for you. xx

Things have been a bit busy in the T house since Jack's birthday. A few days before Thanksgiving, two big things happened:

(1) Thomas started walking.

He was just a few days shy of 10 months old, which is right around when his brothers started too. (This is fun when the first baby does it, but much more difficult when subsequent babies do as there are more little folks running in opposite directions to chase around.) This has been uniquely challenging with Thomas, also, because he is very very tall. Tall enough to reach items on the kitchen counter already, yet young enough not to understand danger or consequences. It's forced me to have to rethink what items I can just leave on the counter to go help someone with the potty, for example. Thank God he's never been hurt by anything, but I've seen his little fingers just about ready to grab some of my sharpest knives and it's very frightening.

(2) We found out we're expecting again.

This came as a complete and utter shock, as we were definitely not trying and instead working to give ourselves a little more time to decide when we might be ready to have another. Apparently, God made that decision for us and while it took a few days to sink in, we were both happy about the prospect of adding a new little somebody to our family.

We visited family for Thanksgiving and even got a little snow that day. It was such a nice holiday.

Christmastime had me really feeling nauseous and tired. Exhausted, actually, and really nauseous too, I guess, since we all got a stomach virus the week before Christmas. It just picked us off one by one, starting with Thomas, and ending with me. I'm pretty sure I spent all day Christmas eve in bed with a trash can. Not exactly a holiday to remember, but the boys got to play with their new toys all day, which they loved, and I just tried to get myself to keep down a few sips of apple juice. It was weird to wish I was only feeling the pregnancy nausea and not the virus nausea, but I was praying for that several times a day.





A few days after Christmas, I had my first ultrasound for this pregnancy because I was feeling a little bit bigger and the doctor thought perhaps my dates were off.

Wrong.

Here's what we saw.


I'm glad I had a little inkling (I knew I was feeling larger than usual, and I also knew that my dates were probably not wrong), otherwise I may have just rolled right off the ultrasound table. So, rather than adjusting to the idea of one new addition to our family, we're mentally preparing ourselves for TWO! And the idea of five children under the age of five. It's been scary and overwhelming and exhausting and daunting, but also exciting and amazing (and did I mention exhausting?) and leaving us feeling tremendously blessed. Five years ago, as blissful newlyweds, we could never have imagined that we'd have five children one day, and now, here we are. The doctor is pretty sure they're identical twins, and while we usually wait to find out the gender, we'll be finding out this time around. Our big ultrasound for that is on March 9.

January brought lots of snow


and Thomas's first birthday.



My, that year went quickly! He is the most happy, outgoing baby and it's hard to imagine life without him. He makes us laugh. He tells us knock knock jokes. (Really.) He keeps us on our toes. He says Mama, Dada, knock-knock, up, cracker, ba ba (bottle), ball, hi, and bye-bye. His smile is contagious. He's a dancing machine.

I also got to visit my sister in San Francisco in January and somehow managed not to take any pictures of our time together. We had a great time doing a few things for her wedding in March, walking around San Francisco, and playing Scrabble.

It's hard to believe it's the last day of February, and March and springtime are just around the corner. This year, I could not be more thankful. It's been a long winter cooped up in the house feeling tired and nauseous with three energetic little boys. We're all anxious to get outside and play!

Happy 4th birthday, Jack!

Four years ago today, I became a Mommy.

My life changed in ways I never could have imagined as I got to know this new little person
whom I loved so much that my heart ached.

Watching you grow, watching your kind heart make itself known as you have
learned to communicate better and better has been a joy and a privilege.

You are the most thankful child I have ever met. You began signing "thank you" any time you were given anything before you could even speak, and have not stopped expressing gratitude
whenever you're given anything.

This makes it such a joy to give you gifts and do things for you.

You are generous and giving, and have been bringing me flowers, leaves, anything you find outside that you consider to be beautiful since you could walk,
always saying "For you, Mommy!"

It makes me feel so very special.

I love being silly with you.
I love your smile and your laugh.

You are curious and bright. You love to learn new things and to teach other people what
you have learned. You are such a kind big brother and so good at sharing with
and caring for PJ and Thomas.

You are learning to read and it is so neat to listen to you figure out how to spell words
and to sound them out when you see them written. You are very good at it!

You are growing so quickly, and Daddy and I are so very proud of you.

Today, we celebrated your birthday and you got the Buzz Lightyear you've been
talking about for months.

We went to the mall to see Santa, and you and PJ gave him the collages you made of
toys you might like to have for Christmas.

You got elf hats, and we had cheeseburgers at Burger King with Daddy.

You got froggy boots from Aunt Devon, just like Caillou has.

After dinner, we sang Happy Birthday and had some Buzz Lightyear cake,

which you made sure to share with your new Buzz.

Happy birthday, my sweet Jack!

Thank you for teaching me to be a Mommy
and for loving and forgiving me even if I mess up.

I love you more than you will ever know!

Cruisin'

This little push toy has been inside the torso of the scarecrow sitting on our front porch for the past couple weeks. During that time, nine-month-old Thomas has been pushing his Leapfrog table around the house and cruising along the furniture like an old pro.

I knew that as soon as I brought the walker back in, it would only be a matter of time before I had another little person running around this house. He's already crawling at the speed of light and getting into everything.

Today was his first try with the walker and he took to it like a duck to water. Once the novelty of the spinny things on the front wears off, I'm sure he'll be pushing it all over the place.