Baby # 2… 3, 4, and 5? Finding out about the Quads and the Pressure to Reduce

January 28, 2019. I was 5 weeks and 3 days pregnant after my third cycle of follistim and timed intercourse and so anxious for our first ultrasound. This was the first pregnancy in a long time that even made it to this point  and I was cautiously optimistic but expecting the worst. That’s the thing about recurrent loss - The miscarriage mindset I call it. You desperately yearn for the baby you’re carrying but are never fully convinced you’ll get to meet them. I can still remember sitting in the ultrasound room where I sat time and time again. My HCG came back at 52,000 and I was so sick I could barely function. I secretly hoped it was twins but felt greedy even thinking that given my history and supposed bad eggs. The doctor was very quiet and her monitor was turned away from us. After a long pause she finally looked up and said, “Remember we told you there was a small chance of multiples?” I immediately thought, it IS twins! But her expression was blank. Something was wrong. As she turned the screen toward us she grimly said, “There’s four” and went to get other doctors to confirm. Syman was white as a ghost. I was laughing. I couldn’t believe it. There was no way. The doctors were stunned and very quick to tell me not to worry, apologetic even. They assured me I could go into the city to have a selective reduction performed should the babies continue to develop. I wasn’t even given an ultrasound picture but used my phone to snap one anyway. I felt numb and devastated and scared out of my mind. This went on for several days. Back and forth talk and pressure about ending the pregnancy. But I knew where my heart was.

I started bleeding at 6 weeks along and panicked. I could feel yet another pregnancy slipping through my fingers but was also holding on to hope. I needed to know if I lost one or all and couldn’t wait for my appointment the next day. We went to the hospital where they confirmed I had a subchorionic hematoma, and moments later we heard all 4 STRONG heartbeats for the first time. We declared right then and there that there would be no more talk of reduction. Syman looked at me and said, “So I guess we’re having four babies!” and it was the first time I smiled in days. We laughed. I puked. We documented the night with photos. I became instantly protective of them and knew I was going to do whatever it took. We were still terrified but also felt at peace with our decision. Still, I continued to be pressured by my doctor. I can very clearly remember the look on his face when he heard each heartbeat for himself and the absence of joy in the room. He was very serious, stressed even. He continued to tell me I should reduce the pregnancy. He told me I needed to go see the specialist and pointed at my small 5’3, 110 pound frame and said there’d be no way my body would be able to carry four. “Look at you! Where will they fit?” he challenged. He rattled off all of the problems they’d likely encounter, and even tried to convince Syman privately. It wasn’t just him, but the others at follow up appointments as well. I wasn’t as vocal as I thought I would be. I knew my decision but was scared and kept losing my voice. I cried to my sweet nurse and told her I didn’t want to go back to the practice. I was shocked I was being sent to a specialist who reduces instead of a high risk doctor that delivers. There was no talk of gaining different perspectives. In fact we were made to believe reducing was the only option and not once was I offered the knowledge of any success stories the practice had seen. Not because there weren’t any, but because reducing my pregnancy would reduce his guilt. His liability. At least that’s how I felt. As much as I wanted to celebrate all of the life growing inside of me, I felt completely empty.

I am not one to make a medical decision without careful thought and felt firm in my choice despite knowing the many risks. If something was going to happen to my babies it wasn’t going to be because of me. I didn’t want that power and knew I had to gave it to God. It was too big for me to take on alone. As much as I didn’t want to be seen by my doctor again I needed to be under close care until 8 weeks when I’d be transferred from my RE to MFM. I knew everyone there was in agreement with what I should do, but my nurse was fantastic and helped communicate my perspective to my doctor. She was the only one I felt who heard me. She helped me find my voice. The doctor called me personally and apologized for his reaction. He explained to me how horrible he felt for putting me in this situation and that he’d do what he could to support me however he could moving forward. In his defense, he didn’t intend for this to happen and was equally fearful, just maybe for different reasons than me. While I’ll never be his biggest fan, I was able to recognize that he too is a human being and forgave him. And ultimately, I’m grateful for him because his judgement (or lack thereof) helped make these babies possible. He led me in the direction of the ANGEL of a doctor who took on my case. A doctor who counseled appropriately, but a doctor who listened, supported, and encouraged. A doctor who prayed for his patients outside of the OR and a doctor who carried a saint card in the pocket of his white coat. He gave me hope that I could do this, and I trusted him with all of our lives whole heartedly from the moment I met him. Toward the end of my pregnancy he was on vacation and I was so fearful he wouldn’t be the one to deliver. My contractions started to intensify and wouldn’t slow with medication. I knew something was different this time. I will never forget him walking in around 4am, the morning he returned from his trip and how relieved I felt to see him. I’m convinced the babies knew. They waited for him and it was time. I was scared but felt a wave of peace and readiness to meet my FOUR perfect miracles.

The babies’ birth was the most incredible day of my existence. At 30 weeks and 4 days they came into this world weighing in between 3 pounds 1 ounce and 3 pounds 14 ounces. Our NICU stay was hard but uneventful and they were all home within 6/7 weeks. I know not every story turns out the way mine did and I know how incredibly risky it was. I spent every single day of my pregnancy knowing there was a great chance I would never get to bring them home. Hospital stays. An emergency cerclage. Stress on my body and mind. From 16 weeks on I barely moved. I felt strongly that any pressure on my cervix would send me into labor and I obeyed every order my doctor gave me. And then there was the infected incision post op and open wound for 3 months. Re-hospitalization. More time away from Carson. It was all terrifying, but I would do it again and again and again. I am so glad we said yes, although I never truly felt it was my choice to make. Today and every day we celebrate baby “A, B, C, and D.” When I look into their little faces I cannot imagine an alternate world where they don’t exist. They fill me with so much joy that it brings me to tears every single day. My miracles, you were so desperately wanted and prayed over from the very beginning. Thank YOU for choosing ME. I love you and will ALWAYS celebrate you.

If you happen to be reading this while in the middle of a difficult choice of any kind today, I hope our story fills you with some hope and peace. No matter what you choose, remember that statistics have a time and place but so does your heart and intuition. These four were the biggest and greatest risk I have ever taken and so very worth it.