As I sit here trying to think of something witty to say, papers are flying out of my printer and all over the floor. It's driving my neat-self to disappear. To add to it, my last potty-train hold-out told me that he needs to go #2. Thus, I let 157 pages fly out of the printer and onto the floor. Then wouldn't you know that said triplet insists on helping me pick up the papers and crumples them in the process. Thankfully, I hold out the urged to reprint the mangled pages. It was hard.
So...I spent some time on Facebook last night, looking at the new mothers that I friended. You all have beautiful families. However, there was one woman in particular whose journey humbled me, Jennie Pollak. For all the people who've told me that I am strong and have gone through a lot to have my triplets...it's nothing compare to her story.
Here is the rest of Chapter 1 (I repeated a little):
She took the pre-heated wand and scanned my uterus.
“Aline, Baby A is doing well,” the nurse said and turned to my file on the counter and wrote something down.
“Is she still a girl?” I asked. I’m so scared that Baby A’s not really a girl. I want a girl so badly. My mother and I are very different and similar. My mom’s a girly girl; I’m not, but we're both planners and each other’s best friend. Please stay a girl, Baby A.
“Of course, she’s still a girl. You had the genetic testing done, right?”
“Yes, but I just want to make sure.”
“Don’t worry. She’s a girl and will stay that way,” the nurse said and gave me a funny look.
“Ok, but I’ll probably keep asking anyway.” Whether you like it or not, I thought.
“She has a good amount of fluid and is moving around nicely,” the nurse said.
“Good.” I exhaled. Of course, she’s fine; she’s my little girl.
“Baby B is still a boy and he is also doing well.”
“Is he still smushed up against Baby A?” I worried that Baby A and Baby B might suffer from growth restrictions since they were on top of each other.
“Yeah, it looks pretty tight, but he’s moving around. He’s fine and his fluid is good too.”
“That’s good. How’s Baby C?” I asked. I wasn’t that concerned about him, because he pigged fifty-percent of my uterus. He could swim from my hips to my chest, if he wanted.
“He looks good too. He is moving nicely. Oh, wait…he’s polyhydramnios,” she said.
“What’s that?” Last week my cervix was a little short. Now I’m poly something or other.
“It just means that he has too much amniotic fluid. He is barely above the normal range. I wouldn’t worry about it. The doctor will talk to you about it.”
“Oh ok.” My heartbeat slowed and fear crept into my veins. It’s never good when you are told that a doctor will talk to you about something.
“Have you picked out any names?” she asked and went back to my file, wrote something down and then fiddled with the pen.
“Yeah, Baby A is going to be named Elizabeth Ann, after my mother, her grandmother and her grandmother going back to the 1700s. We are going to use a nickname, but haven’t decided on which one yet. Baby B is going to be Garret Jack, Jack after my husband’s beloved Grandfather. Baby-”
“Your cervix is only measuring one point one centimeters.”
“That’s shorter then on Tuesday,” I said. Sirens went off in my head as if a police car just pulled into my skull.
“The doctor will talk to you about it, so what are you going to name Baby C?” She repeated herself two more times until her voice broke threw the cacophony in my head.
“That’s a great name.”
“I love the color Hunter green.” I didn’t tell her that I really disliked the image of a hunter killing animals. Jack and I had gone back and forth with names and decided that Hunter would be a good, strong name.
“Well, he is taking up more than his fair share of your uterus and is the biggest. Hunter seems to fit him well,” the nurse said.
“It’s funny how his name seems to fit him already,” I said with a smile that was as phony as the lips on any ‘Desperate Housewife.’ I couldn’t stop thinking that my cervix is shorter. It’s actually shorter. The progesterone did nothing but make me feel gross.
“It says on your chart that you are already on progesterone and….”
My eyes glazed over and I dreamt about my Hunter. I pictured him as Robin Hood saving the day. I saw him drawing his arrow, but I couldn’t quite make out what he was trying to hit. I wasn’t comfortable thinking he might kill an animal not to mention a person. Yet I still pictured him as Robin Hood. His green tights were covering lean, muscular legs and his pinafore covered his broad shoulders. He also had light brown, scraggly hair popping out of his hat and piercing, blue eyes. Jack’s eyes.
“All set,” the technician said interrupting my daydream. “Go ahead and get dressed. The doctor is in the office across the hall.”
“Thanks, have a nice day,” I said with a smile that hurt my heart to make. The progesterone isn’t working. It’s not working. It was suppose to work until thirty-two weeks when I would birth healthy babies. I started to get dressed, but my glasses were inhibiting me from wiping the tears from my eyes. I was having trouble finding my underwear. Of course, my underwear is navy like my pants. Nothing is going right. Nothing. I finally found my underwear, put them on and my pants and slumped into the chair. Breathe, breathe, breathe, I kept repeating it until I could hear myself over the pounding in my head. I stood up and slid on my mules. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and told my babies and me that everything was going to be all right before I entered Dr. Nasty’s office.
Here are other chapters: