Separated Again—This Time, From the Twins
Exactly two weeks postpartum, I'm once again separated from my babies. Except this time, it’s the twins.
After being separated from my kids for seven weeks in the hospital, I thought I had paid my dues. Surely, nothing like that would happen to me again anytime soon, right?
But here I am, exactly two weeks postpartum, separated from my babies again. Except this time, I’m separated from the twins.
Earlier this week, our three-year-old got sick and tested positive for the flu. Like clockwork, I came down with a fever a day later, as did our five-year-old. When our son first got sick, I stayed home from the NICU out of an abundance of caution. The next day, I started not feeling well and knew I couldn’t go visit our boys. That night, I developed a 101 fever. (Surviving that while trying to pump every 3 hours was a new kind of miserable.)
It is now Day 3 of not being able to see the twins. And after telling their doctor that I ran a fever last night, I’m now not allowed to see them for another 7 more.
Counting the days being separated from Thatcher and Briggs feels horribly similar to the 48 days and nights I spent in the hospital on the high-risk pregnancy floor, away from our other three children. At home, I at least have edible food, a more comfortable bed, and the other three kids to snuggle at night. But the twins are now alone, missing the the sound and warmth of the only body they’ve ever known.
Because he was “so sick,” I wasn’t allowed to hold Thatcher until a week after he was born. Since then, I’ve only been able to hold him a small handful times. To be exact, it was two. To have him ripped away from me so soon feels cruel.
The good news is, both boys are doing relatively well. Briggs continues to get stronger every day and after being told Thatcher has the lungs of a micro preemie, he’s made miraculous improvements. In just two weeks, he got his breathing tube removed and last night, he transitioned from a machine that could basically do his breathing for him to CPAP, which his brother Briggs is on. (CPAP is pretty standard breathing support for a 32/33-week preemie.) Doctors initially told us it would be weeks, potentially months before Thatcher would be ready for CPAP, so this was incredible news.
That said, having done the NICU before with our daughter, I try not to get overly excited for “good news.” The NICU is a rollercoaster, mixed with encouraging progress and upsetting setbacks. I take the wins knowing that our babies are still incredibly young and fragile, and that no matter what, we still have a very long road ahead.
For now, I’m praying that the flu striking our family is the worst setback we face in the near future, and that both Thatcher and Briggs continue to improve, despite me not being there.
I didn’t anticipate having to experience the pain of being separated from my children again, let alone so soon. After just living through it, I wanted nothing more than to downplay the sickness running through our family and still cuddle Thatcher and Briggs all day. But as much as I wanted to hold my boys, I knew I couldn’t risk getting them or any other NICU babies sick. Premies are in the fight for their lives—the last thing they need is the flu.
As a friend reminded me,
“The hard decision is usually the right decision.”
Thatcher and Briggs are safe in the NICU, and I will see them again soon. But that won’t make these next 7 days any less sad for me.
With love (and the flu) at home,
Kelsey
P.S. - If you’re new to my story, catch up here:
Dispatch From a High-Risk Pregnancy Hospital Stay: 'I feel like I'm not his mom'
The Backstory of My Twin Pregnancy Hospital Stay [Pt. 1]: Finding Out We Were Pregnant with Twins
The hits keep coming and you continue to face them with such love and strength. Continued prayers, love and strength.