Mom-Tales.com

It’s been six years and I still think about it every day. Of how lucky we are. My twin daughters were born at 30 weeks and 5 days of my pregnancy. My husband Brian and I had learned  we were expecting twins when I was already five months pregnant. I literally had an out of body experience. It was the best and most surreal moment of my life. I kept screaming, “We hit the jack pot!” However, all was not to go smoothly.

The girls had almost arrived during my 26th week when I first learned I was in preterm labor. Thanks to hospitalization, total bed rest, and Herculean medical intervention, I was able to stay pregnant five precious extra weeks. Alexandria weighed 2 lbs. 14 oz. at birth and Sydney was 3 lbs. 3 oz. We saw them for 2 seconds after they were born, as their two tiny raw, red bodies were whisked away to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Memorial Hospital West in Pembroke Pines, Florida.

We were able to hold Sydney the day after she was born. She was so small and had wires all over her, connecting her to machines that monitored her oxygen level, heart rate, and breathing. We could not hold Alexandria for a week. I’ve always felt like I owe her more hugs to make up for the days when I was only able to look at her through the incubator window. Because of their early birth, Brian and I missed out on so much.

Most people did not know what to say to us after our daughters were born. Maybe they hesitated to congratulate us because they didn’t want to appear to be ignoring the fact that our girls were in critical condition. On the other hand, people didn’t want to focus on the gloom and doom, because they didn’t want to add to our already terrified state. So between the two, we heard a lot of silence. Even though we had just become new proud parents to two babies, our daughters’ early birth brought a dark cloud over us. People went through the motions though. Pink roses were delivered and pairs of “It’s Twins” balloons arrived. Someone hung two “It’s a Girl!” banners on my hospital door and friends brought packages of Double Mint Gum and Double Stuff Oreos, but it was like there was a film of fear and doubt coating us, holding us back from being completely happy. I was angry that prematurity had robbed us of all of the wonderful moments I had always anticipated when I became a mother. I mourned the loss of that dream for a long time.

And then there was the NICU, an experience that will never fully leave me. Day after day, I’d sit in a rocking chair placed exactly between the girls’ incubators and fixated on the huge clock on the middle of the wall. I’d stare at the thin long red minute hand that slowly swept around the clock’s face. There were no windows in the NICU so other than the clock, there was nothing to mark time’s passing. My eyes darted back and forth. Clock. Sydney . Monitor. Alexandria . Monitor. Clock. My own private vigil. I was too afraid of leaving and getting a phone call with bad news so I just never left the hospital. Minutes felt like endless hours. A line of a Prince song kept replaying in my head, “How can I get through days when I can’t get through hours?” It felt like the Earth had stopped turning, as if someone, somewhere had just flipped a giant switch and literally turned time off.  And time was what we needed to learn what our daughters’ fates would be. Would they have life long developmental delays? Would their prematurity leave a lasting mark on them?

We waited for various test results to come back and the uncertainty of their health scared me to my bones. When I tried to talk it felt like I could not get enough air into my lungs, as though I was suffocating or continually hyperventilating.  Brian and I stayed by their incubators, one of us stationed at Sydney’s, the other at Alexandria ’s, wrapped around them like parenthesis, guarding them. After a while we’d switch sides. I spent hours on the Internet reading about premature babies. “Low birth weight babies are more at risk for Cerebral Palsy” I’d read over and over again.  I analyzed babies born at varying gestational periods and memorized the different survival rates. I wanted to know that the girls would be in the percentage that would survive. I wanted the doctors to give me definite answers. I wanted to hear them say that the girls would be healthy and fine but none of them would make any promises. There was nothing more we could do but wait and see. The waiting was agonizing and it unraveled me, a little more day by day. I kept waiting for one of the neonatologists to call me over. To say, “Mrs. Cohen, we need to speak with you,” and tell me some bad news. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop and I was literally, holding my breath. And we did have some scary moments; Alexandria had a mild brain bleed which thankfully resolved itself over time and both girls needed blood transfusions.

But we got lucky; after five agonizingly long weeks, our daughters were discharged. Thankfully, today, Sydney and Alexandria are smart, healthy 6-year-old Kindergarteners.  They have never had any complications from having been born so early.  And I say a prayer of gratitude when I wake up and when I go to sleep. I am thankful for the whining. For the messes around the house. For the crumbs on the floors. For having to give in and get the mini van. Having two premature babies makes you learn not to sweat the small stuff. Things could have gone very differently for my daughters.

I am lucky to be a mother. Brian and I wanted to celebrate and honor our daughters while at the same time, help future premature babies have the best possible chance at a healthy life. So, in an effort to show our extreme gratitude for our healthy children, we founded The Sydney & Alexandria Cohen Foundation, Inc., a 501(c)(3) not-for-profit organization.  Incubators saved our children’s lives, so we opted to raise funds to purchase and donate two GE OmniBed Giraffe incubators to the Memorial Hospital West NICU. The Giraffe is the most advanced and developmentally superior incubator available today. It combines design and state-of-the-art technology to create an unsurpassed healing environment for premature infants. It also allows for multiple procedures to be performed in the main isolate, eliminating the stress of moving critically ill infants from bed to bed. We are raising the funds needed and it truly is a labor of love.

Brian and I have been recognized for our work in our community but I am raising these funds for my own selfish reasons. I could not understand why my daughters had to endure such trauma when they were born. I drove myself mad trying to find a reason that would make it make sense. And when I could not find one, I knew I needed to create one. So, out of my pain and heartache, and out of my complete and utter gratitude, I have created a reason. To know that my daughters’ early birth will one day mean that future premature babies have a better chance for a healthy life will mean that I turned something bad into something good. That I am paying it forward the best way I know how; by helping others in honor of the two loves of my life.

I’d have cherished my daughters had they been born full term, but I know that their early birth made me love them just a bit more. I never take a minute for granted. There were no guarantees they would be healthy but they both came out of the hospital unscathed. Sometimes I see a mother with a special needs child and I think to myself, “That so easily could have been my road.” I have two healthy precious children; everything else good in my life is frosting. I really did hit the jackpot.

Jennifer Cohen