I've been contemplating about this blog for some time and I've been going back and forth whether to bring up a sad topic while things are so joyous for us now... but this is a part of who we are and what our family has become.
I don't know if many people notice, but I don't call our girls 'twins'. I call them 'our girls'. We lost 'our twins' June 5, 2013. For some reason, I have a hard time calling our girls, 'twins' because I feel that the twins deserve their own title: The Grunloh Twins. It's just a weird quirk I suppose. I don't talk about it to too many people because it's still hard for me to find the right words when it comes to the whole situation, and I know many won't/don't understand, so why put them (and me) in an awkward situation. But on the flip side, I know there are a lot of inquisitive minds around our loss. Here it goes:
Two years ago today, our world came to a crashing halt when I was 19 weeks and 6 days pregnant with our twins. My water spontaneously broke.
I'll start from the beginning...
To our shock, we got pregnant as soon as we decided to start a family. We found out we were pregnant in February 2013, and found out we were having twins in March. I was having a flawless pregnancy. We told anyone and everyone the news as soon as we reached that three month mark. We rolled out a quirky Facebook announcement, we told our parents by dying Easter eggs blue and pink, we pulled out the ultrasound picture that clearly showed two babies to make them completely speechless, I bought a whole new maternity wardrobe, we got cribs, the changing table, swings, bouncy seats.... when we reached three months, my naive mind told me that nothing could go wrong now!
My water broke on June 4, 2013. I was 19 weeks 6 days pregnant. I had no symptoms leading up to the moment my water broke. The ultrasound showed that I had no cervix and I was dilated to 2, and no fluid around 'baby A'. We were given two choices: Proceed with labor and deliver both babies or hold out as long as we can, hoping to delay natural labor as long as we could in order to get to a viable state for the babies (24-25 weeks). Both babies were fine at the time... active and good heart beats, and absolutely beautiful on the ultrasound. I kept looking at that screen and seeing our babies move around, content as could be. Our tech asked us if we wanted to know the sexes... 'baby b' was a boy...and she couldn't find the sex of 'baby A'.
Donny and I did a lot of soul searching that evening and into the night. It was, and still is, the hardest decision anyone could ever make... the fate of your children. We were given all the stats of survival with our situation, all the risks, and very little benefits. All of the cards were leading to proceeding with labor.... I couldn't wrap my head around it. What mother could utter the words "Lets start the pitocin" when you're 20 weeks pregnant with two babies still with heart beats. It wasn't fair. I was SO angry. Mostly angry with myself. I felt like I failed my babies by not knowing my body enough to think something was wrong. I kept running the whole day through my head and started thinking of red flags throughout the day... chalking it up to my growing belly.
Pastor Fred and his wife Stacy came the next morning. We cried. We prayed. We begged to God for peace and understanding. I thought this would cease my anger. It didn't. I was so angry. I clenched onto my belly, not willing to let go, and not willing to come to terms with losing these sweet angels. When Pastor Fred and Stacy left, Dr. Larson came in and checked me, and he deemed that 'baby A' was no longer with us, most likely due to lack of fluid and lack of developed lungs. That was the answer to our prayers. Not the answer we wanted, but it was our answer on how to proceed. I didn't have to make the decision now. We had to proceed with labor. I asked a million questions. I was holding on to any possible hope for our little boy... and there was none.
We started the Pitocin, and a grueling 10 hours later, we gave birth to our baby girl, and 15 minutes after, we had our baby boy. We chose not to hold them after I gave birth. I knew if I would have taken them I would have completely lost it and would have never let go. Our baby boy had 10 minutes of life. The nurses took him, gave him a bath, wrapped him in a blanket, and cuddled him. At the time, I didn't know this. I was told of his life after he was gone, as our request was to not hold right after birth. I was completely heartbroken, and again, so angry. Angry with myself.
Soon after I delivered, a gal came in and asked us: "What funeral home would you like us to contact?" I felt like my heart kept getting stabbed. We had no idea we were having to deal with death certificates, funeral home decisions, cemetery decisions, burial decisions, legal paperwork.... Yesterday, we were told this would be considered as a 'late-term miscarriage' and that the hospital takes care of everything. That was yesterday. Today, June 5, 2013, I was 20 weeks pregnant. At 20 weeks, our babies were considered infant deaths. Not a miscarriage. Our baby girl was stillborn, and our baby boy left us shortly after birth, deemed as an infant death. The 'category' they were in didn't change our heart break... but it changed a lot of stressful logistics. We wanted to bury them in the plot with other children who passed away in their mother's womb or shortly after birth. We couldn't, because they had to be at least 22 weeks gestation. Anther stab to the heart. We decided on cremation.
The next morning, I decided I wanted to meet them. They blocked the waiting room for me and they brought the babies in. They were beautiful. Dressed in white gowns with little white bonnets. They had flawless skin, with porcelain faces. I sat and cried... just me, my babies, and my amazing, incredible nurse (who was my nurse when I was in the hospital with the girls and was just as incredible then).
We left the hospital that day empty, tore apart, broken. I was in a blur and at my all-time low. My instinct told me to just block it all out and let the people around me grieve. It's easier for me to comfort than to be comforted. That's my coping mechanism. I dealt with anger for quite some time. Cards, messages, flowers, phone calls, and visits were constant. Every time we got one more card, I got more angry. I was the source of people's sadness. I thought if I assured the people around me that I was just fine, they should be too, and they can go back to life as they knew it, and I can have time to figure out my own grieving.
We took some of the twins' ashes and had them spun into a glass heart necklaces. The remaining ashes we put in Lake Superior in Duluth. The most peaceful and special place to me for many reasons. We didn't try to get pregnant until we were at peace with the loss of our twins. My anger ceased over time, and things slowly came to a new normal. We had two more miscarriages before getting pregnant with our girls: our gifts... our miracles... our rainbows after the storm (and to answer other inquisitive minds, we had no fertility treatments at any point in time).
The twins, and their story, taught me how to appreciate the smallest things in life. Life is short, life is fragile. I get frustrated at people who complain about the pettiest things, and I get frustrated with myself when I also fall back into that mind set. I get angry when I hear thoughtless comments when it comes to pregnancy, pregnancy loss, bringing a precious life into this world, and the countless news stories of child abuse and neglect. I have a hard time talking about our story to other women with pregnancy loss because my heart breaks for them. I don't have magic words. It's something every parent of infant loss has to muddle through on their own. It doesn't make things better when people tell you similar stories to help relate to you, or the small comments of confidence like "This too shall pass" or "there's a reason this happened". Nothing helps when you're in the moment of grieving and trying to process the loss of a child/children.
I'm still trying to find the positive of losing our twins. Yes, we wouldn't have our girls if it weren't for the loss.... Is that a positive? I don't know... but it's an incredible, unfathomable blessing. God really wanted us to have twins.
When I left the hospital, my nurse gave me a bag. I know what's in it: Molds of their feet, hand prints, foot prints, their hospital birth certificates, the outfits they were dressed in, two white quilts, pictures of them, and coping/grieving pamphlets. I haven't touched the bag. Maybe some day, but I'm still not ready... I don't know if I'll ever be, but I do know that these babies are still very much a part of our family and still very much alive in our hearts and their sister's hearts.
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| Angel of Hope Memorial at Leif Erickson Park in Duluth |
P.S. To everyone who sent us cards, money, gifts, food, flowers, etc... Thank you, Thank you, Thank you! I had every intention of sending thank you cards to all of you... But when I sat down to do it, I couldn't. I didn't know what to say. I was so sad that I was making other people sad. I can't even explain the emotions when we received over 100 cards and countless gifts. It got to the point where it became so overwhelming, I had to put it away... and that, too, has not been touched for almost two years, but I will never forget the overwhelming sense of love and support surrounding us during the darkest time in our lives.
