In this haze of confusion and magnesium, I kissed my husband goodbye as they wheeled me into the OR. The room was filled with strangers- faces of people that I now know very well- Respiratory Therapists, NICU Doctors, NICU nurses, Labor and Delivery nurses. I was starting to have a panic attack when she appeared. Sarah. A labor and delivery nurse in the hospital. An acquaintance I knew from high school, who I had seen a few times during my pregnancy, a familiar face who held my hand. She told me I would be okay. She was with me. She was the last thing I remember as they put me under general anesthesia; before they performed an emergency c-section to save my life and my babies life.

In that moment, all I had was hope.

Hope when I asked the nursed wheeling me to labor and delivery if my baby would die.

Hope when they said they wanted to transfer hospitals before I delivered because their NICU only cares for preemies of 32 weeks gestation and older.

Hope in the 40 min ambulance ride.

Hope when they told me I was dilated to a 6 but my contractions had stopped.

Hope in my body that I could keep her in just a few more days, and I did.

Gwen was born with her heart hypertensive, enlarged and all of her organs in failure. We found out that she had a tumor on her tail bone that was causing the issues. Gwen underwent 5 surgeries in the NICU. 3 surgeries were related to the tumor. Which was diagnosed as a neuroblastoma. One surgery was an ETV(brain surgery) because she had developed hydrocephalus and a brain bleed. Gwen had 68 blood transfusions while in the NICU. The last surgery before being discharged was to have a gbutton placed. She was discharged at 84 days.

Hope seems unimaginable when you hear the words “she needs help breathing” during your c-section delivery and next thing you know, your whole world goes dark. Confused, medicated and 12 hours later you open your eyes, alone in your hospital room.

Adam and I can’t thank the drs and nurses who were with me and who took care of the girls enough. They became family. They were advocates for us and shoulders to cry on when needed. They were there to tuck my girls into bed at night after we left. They were there to hold them while I couldn’t. They were encouraging of us as new parents to do whatever we could with them to help us. We needed to feel like their mom and dad and the nurses helped us do that. They are the reason we are snuggling here at home on our couch with our baby girls.

We hope because we love hard, and there is nothing more that we need in the NICU than hope.

We spent 148 days in the NICU. The journey included lots of medications, blood transfusions, ventilators, oscillators, CPAP, high flow oxygen, low flow oxygen, PDA closure surgery, hernia surgery, chest X-rays, echos, head scans, feeding tubes, bloodwork, and lots of beeping monitors. Our son fought hard every single day! We were surrounded by wonderful doctors, nurse practitioners, and amazing nurses that cared for him every minute of every day. We also had amazing support from our friends and family and each other. All of these loving people helped us get through each and every day.

A long 44 days later, and we finally got to bring our sweet fighter home. Life in the NICU is hard and emotional. Living through it in the heart of a pandemic is no walk in the park either. I truly felt like people just thought we sat around holding him and reading books all day. No one warns you about the roller coaster of emotions, the real thoughts you have about whether your child will survive through the night, and the pain you feel deep in your soul every day you leave that hospital without your baby. No one warns you about the amount of follow up appointments and ongoing issues that you have to deal with after NICU life is over.

In retrospect, I now realize that I had postpartum depression from the very beginning. From the very beginning, I had negative feelings and cried every single day. Sleep deprivation, shock of being a new mom, shock of a premature baby in the NICU, the fact that nobody seemed to understand what I was going through, not feeling like my baby's parent while in the NICU, leaving the hospital every day without my baby, pumping constantly and not knowing what the hell I was doing, among many other things attributed to my PPD. My PPD went undiagnosed for 9 months before I finally saw a therapist about it, after my husband opened up to me about wanting his wife back. I would come home from work and not want to hold my baby. I thought sadness, loneliness, emptiness, and resentment were just my new normal. It felt like everyone had been lying to me about how joyful having a baby would be. I felt like if I just got in the car and never came back, my baby would be better off without me because I was not a good mom to him anyway. Everything felt difficult. Now that I have another beautiful baby (and thankfully no PPD this time), I realize now just how dark and stormy that year was - how much I had actually lost to PPD.

The loss of a twin is a whole new type of grief. It’s hard to describe. My heart is broken yet I feel joy everytime I look at at Lucia. I needed to be strong for her at a time in my life when it was all I could do not to crumble.

Lucia is now 6 weeks corrected & she's thriving. She's a happy, smiley, content little baby and I have no doubt that some of Eoin's strength will live on in her.

After 65 days our boys were able to come home, together .

Today, these happy, funny, sweet, playful baby boys are 8 months old. They impress us everyday with how smart they are and how strong they are. We are so very blessed to have two very healthy baby boys.

After the boys left the hospital I transferred and I am currently a NICU nurse where my boys were taken care of and I get give back what was given to us....hope.

As Cecilia grows we hope she knows the stories of her sister and the love that has guided our family.
It was hope that got us through each day, it was hope that we grasped to when all we could see was pain, it is hope that shines a light on our darkest days.

Hope~ Things don't always go as planned.

Hope gives us the strength to move forward and trust that things will be okay.

Hope helps you find the positive in any situation, no matter how much negative you're faced with.

Hope gets us through hard times by focusing on a successful outcome.

I remember the NICU team prepping me for what to expect once he was born. “He’s either going to come out crying and we will lay him in your chest for a brief moment or he won’t come out crying and we will have to take him right away.” I was so scared. So excited to meet my boy. I am a single mom by choice so I was in for this journey without a partner. So unsure of what was to come.

NICU brought us joy and sorrow. Proud moments and discouraging moments. I will ALWAYS be a twin Mama. It doesn't matter that Majik isn't on earth with us anymore. He will always be our son. We will always love him. I've learned that it's okay to not be okay.

The NICU will forever be apart of our lives. Not just with the relationships we made, but for the lessons we learned. Our faith, marriage, and outlook on life were strengthened.

This month is my daughter's 1st birthday. To say that I am in disbelief that this year has gone by so slow in the NICU, yet so fast at home is an understatement. If you asked me almost a year ago if I thought I would make it to this point, I would've looked at you with tear stained eyes and said "I don't know, but I can't lose her."