marriage isn’t 50-50, it is 100-100.

this is a good rule to live by, but a hard one.

recently, i have made a 100% marriage tough decision.

thursday, i am going with magnificent charles and sebastian to antigua. i will be gone from the triplets for 12 days. when i was in phuket, after five days i was anxious to return. barely one month later, i am leaving them again.

i will be 37 hours away from the babies. and that’s if there is flight availability that day.

why antigua? good question. magnificent charles’ mum was born and grew up there. when she died in September 2002, one of her last wishes was that the entire family be together in antigua. magnificent charles’ dad, magnificent charles, and his sisters took this wish to heart.

originally, we tried to go in early 2003. but someone cancelled it then. the second attempt was kiboshed because yours truly was gestating triplets (really! are they natural?). so here we are, 2005. plans are made.

of course, my health has been terrible. for a while, the combination of my health, and knowing how much i was going to miss the triplets made me feel i could not go. having a seizure on a plane is a new one for me, and i didn’t feel the overwhelming need to be part of that particular exclusive elite.

magnificent charles really, really wanted me to go. the last time he was in antigua (back in 2002, he went to boat week with good friends), he missed me. he had a great time with the boys, but when they weren’t sailing, he was exploring, and wanted to share the sights with me. charles knows i like walking through markets, watching the stalls get set up in the mornings, sitting in a soda, watching the town doze under the nailing sun.

MC knew this trip was going to be tough for him. being in hong kong, he doesn’t see a lot of sights that evoke memories of times he and his mother shared together. do you miss your mum? i would ask, and he would say, "well sure, but she wasn’t part of this world".

well, antigua is where she started. and was a young girl. his family is going to take a day and travel around to where magnificent’s mum lived, taught, went to school and church. if there is a time to have the impact of her life and death rolling upon him like those famous turquoise waves, it will be in antigua.

he wants me around for support.

but i didn’t think i could go, and go wholeheartedly. i just can’t.

i couldn’t stand the thought of the babies becoming more familiar with lita and mila than me.

i explained this rationally, lovingly and calmly.

and he looked at me sadly, rationally, lovingly and calmly and said,

so how do you think i will feel when i am away from you for six weeks this summer?

ah yes, this summer, when after spending one week with charles’ family, my parents have offered to bring us to yellowknife, look after my almost basketball team. babies, and their much loved wassin. i KNOW that charles travels a lot, and chances were good that even if the babies and i were here this summer he would be gone probably two of those six weeks at least, and working 12 hour days (ironically, the times they are awake) five days of the seven.

but still, it made me think.

and eventually, compromise.

so i am going to antigua.

i can’t tell you right now how much i will miss the babies. i don’t know yet.

i have a bunch of books and have promised doctors, friends and husband that i will sleep, alot.

i am committed to going, and i am committed to charles. i have let him down many times. this is one time i won’t. i am committed to ensuring charles gets the relaxation he so desperately needs as well.

do i wish i weren’t going? there is no point to that question, is there dr phil. i am going.

100 per cent.

you were thinking it was time for the babies to get another checkup, weren’t you? after all, it had been one month and three days since all three were weighed, measured and debated.

it had been one month and three days since i had to flag down a taxi while lita and i balance, three children and their accessories: three meals and an equal number of bottles into a heated pack (the partner to the chilled pack sebastian and i would carry to the hospital each morning with my breast milk in it for the babies), three blankets, one double stroller and one car seat, three medical folders, three change of nappy kits, two changes of clothes (how’s that for risky?), and various other stuff. and we just can’t plonk them down on the road and wait for a cab like we used to (or i used to..she never went along with it)…oh no, they’re crawling now.

did i mention we have two clinics? the last one we went to is a three minute walk away, door to door. no kidding. this one, well, it used to be a nine minute taxi ride, but, out of sheer spite, it closed this january. so now i have to go to one that seems nearer china than our flat. and of course, i forgot the chinese address for the clinic (to be fair, so did lita, and i had remembered all the other stuff), and this cab driver didn’t have any way of communicating with his head office (which is illegal), so we had to cruise around for ages until i got my bearings. we finally got there.

and then it was lugging everything into the lift. and people are being really nice and asking if they are triplets (at least that is what i think they were asking, this is a very local part of town), and i am agreeing, but my arms are aching and i know the lineup (you see the dr/nurse on a first come first serve basis) is growing and i have to get in there.

it is 9am, and the babies are meant to be sleeping. while i am queuing lita gets them settled, opens the stroller and puts the chairs into recline and the girls pop thumbs into their mouths and start to get ready to doze, but then the crowds begin again. how do you ask people nicely not to touch your children? especially when their eyes are closing? jasper gets thrilled with the attention, and is all smiley.

i learned a few years ago there is no correlation between how nice people are and the number of teeth they have. it is a good lesson.

when our number is called, one by one i take the team in. all babies love having their nappies removed. the appointment seems good until the nurse says that the wee three should be recognising the word "no", dropping small items into cups, not putting things into their mouths.

but its close to mealtime…of course things are going in their mouths! i defend my offspring.

and they should also be pointing. she adds.

really?

so who knows. and then she says that their heads are all quite big in relation to their sizes, so the doctor should see them.

the LAST thing i want to do is spend more time here, (no offense intended), and in vain, i pull out a picture of charles, who has a MASSIVE conk. it is a caldwell trait. he has a big head, his sisters have big heads, his dad has a big head i say….

to no avail.

we wait in a new lineup, for immunizations. we are getting the third hep b immunization today. and then, it looks like we will feed them, and then see the doctor.

at 11.15, they all get their shots, and then we settle down to feed them. a curious crowd wants to watch, and my kids don’t care. they just want to eat. bottles drained (jasper and sela hold their own bottles now, but according to the nurse they should be holding cups), and lentils and spinach eaten. yogurt avidly swallowed.

then they saw the doctor, and then went home.

and we all went to bed.

and i saw as i put away their medical kits that their next appointment is less than one month away.

but i was a smart girl, i got the receptionist to write down the clinic’s location on their medical kits, so next time there is no danger of getting lost.

whew.

the amazing race

does THE AMAZING RACE have to count as a reality tv show? it is so UNFAIR to suggest it is on par with THE BACHELORETTE or i’m a celebrity, get me out of here.

it is such a great programme. the countries, the challenges, the cultures, and the airports.

i am a faithful AR watcher. so is sister pam, as well as friends steph and dale and denby and matt.

as the new season (7) has just started, i will say:

as of episode one, i have no problem with rob and amber. at first, i was hesitant, but i have to say, i liked them fine. some folk are angry that they traded in on their celebrity to get ahead, but other people trade in on their looks and youth, so hey shouldn’t rob and amber use their talents? plus, they were respectful of the other cultures they visited, tried to speak spanish when they could, and commented on the beauty of peru. no problems. freddy and kendra (winners of AR6) weren’t incredibly dislikeable people (although did you notice freddy used big words when he was wearing his glasses??), but alienated many with their constant whinging criticism of the countries they visited.

i was disappointed in the mother and son team. what sort of parent states they will lie and cheat to win? isn’t their talent enough?

very disappointed the down home boys got eliminated first round. they were good fun.

i don’t have any particular affinity with the couple hoping to put the 1 million dollars towards IVF, but i wish them luck.

but enough of that…can you fellow AR watchers tell me HOW the cameramen can possibly stay unbiased and not help the team they are filming make a crucial decision? let them know when they are stuffing it up? indicate with a nod of the head the correct road to wander down? how could you not root for the nicer couples? wouldn’t you want to help a deserving couple if you could?

both stephanie and i have husbands who travel a great deal, and there have been nights when we watch the amazing race and give each other phone commentary as it is happening. we tend to like the same teams, so no serious disagreements arise. it is a harmless, laughing time, a cyber slumber party.

stephanie’s husband dale. i have a good story about him that i kept out of my birth story. you know they were the stoic friends that prayed for us and hugged charles while i was in surgery. they were also the friends who waited outside the NICU the first night i was wheeled in there and offered us prayer and support at that time as well. good friends.

and i knew dale was desperate to make me feel better. so the day the babies are born, in the evening right before i saw their pictures, i think i saw dale briefly. not looking my best, you understand. and dale, smiling and holding stephanie’s hand, looks and me and smiles and says,

you know tess, when i first met you, i thought you were really good looking. you know, like in a way that a friend is good looking.

and i think i ran my hand through my knotted and sweaty hair, or a laugh/crying induced tear might have trailed down my face causing a divide in the mascara caked on my cheeks. and i might have said,

"and what about now, dale?"

and then we all laughed.

i watch the amazing race on television, and we live our own. and with each, stepahnie and dale are there, commenting, supporting and holding our hands as we race to the finish line, rest, pick up our bags, and start again in the morning.

their dynamite napoleon

one of sebastian’s best friends is expecting a sibling in the next few weeks. the friend, who lunches here with his sister twice a week, examines the triplets carefully and kisses them as he is leaving goodbye.

whenever he starts paying a bit too much attention to the trio, sebastian steps in and says, not aggressively but as a reminder,

my babies.

and he and his friend go back to playing.

sebastian has declared the babies his own property since phuket.

i miss my babies.

we go home to my babies and mina and ita?

and statements about his babies are accompanied with him placing a hand to his chest.

this proprietary nature towards his siblings extends to his feelings towards them now that sela and carys (jasper doesn’t really care, he smiles and watches) are grabbing toys that sebastian considers "his". he’s doing a lot of grabbing away from the babies.

my babies are eating my purple car!

and most often times, one of them will be.

the babies continue to love sebastian, and even when he rips things out of their hands, follow him around.

and listening to them follow him around is exquisite. the chubby pat-pat pat-pat of their hands slapping against the wood, the pause when they’re trying to turn a corner or lift themselves up to see what he is doing.

they laugh when he jumps. mum and i tried it, they don’t laugh when we jump.

they laugh when he "falls" to the ground. they don’t even wait for me to hit the floor.

of course it is irritating to him that they are shoving his precious toys (of course more precious when they are playing with them) in their mouths, and soon will be invading more of his space and life. but oh they love him. he makes their lives funnier, more interesting, he isn’t their carer, he is their entertainer. watching him put on shoes evokes smiles from sela. i would love that sort of worship!

when i first got pregnant i wondered what i had done to sebastian. would triplets ruin our relationship with him? would he always feel like the odd man out?

that’s one of the reasons they all share the same room. so it can’t be a "them vs me" memory for him. they’re all in this sibling stuff together. not the triplets and sebastian, but "just wait until i tell your father what you kids did" team. or, "i can’t believe you all spent your money and bought me this." it doesn’t matter that he isn’t a triplet, it matters that they love him. in a special way, like they love each other.

for now, i hope the triplets assault on sebastian’s toys and food is balanced with how he feels witnessing how much they love him. it might not prevent fights and grabbing today, but years down the road it might promote grabbing the phone and checking in, just to say hello.

what would bill murray do??

i loved the movie groundhog day. a classic.

this morning, by 8am, i wished i could crawl under the covers and relive the day again. i had made so many mistakes.

yesterday evening was a breakthrough….i was in bed trying to stay awake, as my seizures tend to start when i am awoken abruptly. why didn’t i just go to sleep and stay there? because sebastian still needs to be woken up and taken to the bathroom in order to have "dry bobs" in the morning.

(sebastian calls his underpants "bobs" because his first "big boy pants" that we bribed him out of nappies with had bob the builder on them. to this day, even though his pants now have nemo plastered over them, they are bobs. his dad wears bobs. girls on the other hand, wear "knickahs".)

so i am re-reading a fabulous, incredible book, THE KITE CHASER. beautiful story. and suddenly my door opens, and sebastian appears. rubbing his eyes.

mummy, i need to do a wee-wee.

how great is this! he is now getting to the stage where he can wake up and recognise the wee-wee urge.

i hop up and we scamper off to the toilet. his bobs are a little bit damp, but he does a massive wee, and i give him a fresh pair of bobs, help him pull up the jammies, and then he is off to bed.

it is midnight, and i am so tired but cannot sleep. i remember checking the clock at 1.20 and thinking, this is ridiculous. i felt like going downstairs to where my neighbour has a gorgeous newborn girl, telling her to go to bed and looking after the baby.

but i did get to sleep.

woke up to hear carys singing. it is 6am. she has NO RIGHT to be up. after five minutes, she’s angry. crying. i get up. shush and carry her to the playroom where we have a chat about house rule 1.1 – hours of operation. she grins at me and pushes a building block into her mouth.

our chat morphed into playing is interrupted by sebastian screaming. i run into his room, and something is wrong. he can’t find one of his toys, and that is worth screaming hysterical tears over, if you are three. i wasn’t aware of that. maybe i am not reading the three year old’s rights and responsibilities contract.

so now jasper and sela are awake. and unhappy.

i lecture sebastian about NOT whining and speaking in a pleasant voice, tell him his father and i cannot understand whining and he needs to communicate clearly. because we want to hear what he is telling us and help him if something is wrong.

he gives me a hug, and i am just cozy with the girls on my lap, when sebastian walks into the room, trips over the rug and falls to his knees. i have seen sebastian do this many times, and most times he is running at full speed and crashing spectacularly. and he doesn’t make a peep. he doesn’t cry over spilt milk, this kid.

except now. the whinging! the relative calm is pierced with his moaning and wahhh-ing. i plop the girls down on their bottoms, and rush over to sebastian.

are you hurt? if not, you must stop whinging!

he’s not hurt. but the whinging continues.

i go back the baby and commence  changing a bottom.

i am in my room and my duvet whispers to me: lie down for a minute.

i havent spent too much time with my duvet lately, so i agree.

and sebastian comes banging in the room.

i need to do a poopers!

i sit up and do as i have done for the last four days, i help him pull down his jammies, bobs and then tell him i will check on him in a few minutes. that he should call me when he’s done.

but no, he dissolves on the floor again. screaming.

i am trembling i am so angry. i pick him up, place him none too gently on the toilet and tell him to call me when he is done and that he cannot continue the whinging.

then i go away, not because i have no desire to hear and smell my son doing his business, but because i seriously need to cool down. why today am i flying off the handle? i have had worse mornings than this.

i walk into the living room, assuming the site of my darling babies playing will give me serenity and renewed patience/energy. i am a hollow reed. i am a hollow reed.

a hollow reed who just was thrown up on, courtesy of the j.

ah well, i was still in my pajamas.

and then sebastian, wailing from the toilet.

he hasn’t done a poo, he "cahn’t". but as i waddle in, i serve as an instant laxative, because with a wave of odour, he accomplishes his goal.

i congratulate him (i am not entirely uncaring), and then give him a tissue.

wahhhhh. i cahnt.

sure you can. who do you want to wipe your bottom.

i know the answer, i just want to hear him say it.

you do it.

so we compromise, i help him. i am trying to wean him from the needing my assistance in this scatalogical area.

then i start getting him dressed and for some reason he’s crying again. i think i had the audacity to put on his wife beater and then his long sleeved shirt instead of beater, trousers then shirt. no wonder he’s crying.

finally, he was out the door, and gone. to school.

and i just wanted to pretend i, (and him, let’s be fair) had not been so atrocious.

in groundhog day, bill murray kept reliving the same day. and the groundhog just never emerged.

on second thoughts, i don’t want to be the bill murray character, i’d prefer to be puxatony phil, sleeping groundhog.

New pictures!!

This is Charles… just posted new pictures in the February photo album. Click now to see Jasper enjoying his first lolly pop!

thanks for the emails…i am fine. health seems to be okay.

some statistics to make you think i am a math and analytical type person:

new crawlers = 3 (or four…sebastian now seems to prefer to crawl around as well…how is that for peer pressure??)

scratches = 1…olivia gave carys a long overdue scratch on the hand yesterday

teeth = 2…. sela has her two bottom teeth.

blood drawing incidents = 2 … all wee three members have drawn blood on their face recently. all resulting from crawling.

"HARD TO SAY BUT PROBABLY OPTIMISTIC" looking scans = 1….yes indeed. sela had her ultrasound yesterday and it looks good. you can definitely see the excess fluid on the brain, but never ONCE did anyone mention the word SHUNT. they were surprised that it hasn’t reabsorbed itself, but all in all, it was good. they did say the next time the water level looks high in the fontanel area, to bring her in. so i will. 

grans in attendance = -1 . my mum is gone now, it was great to have her here. she was so helpful and loving. she didn’t get to do much as i was lying in bed most of my days, but never complained once. she read. held, changed, chased, cuddled and loved babies. knitted. did everything the HOW TO BE A GRAN WHEN YOU DON"T LOOK OLD ENOUGH TO BE ONE handbook suggested. and she did it well. thank you mum.

last night sela decided that the gel in her head was causing her grief. we didn’t give her a bath after her ultrasound, i figured i had wiped off most of the gel. but no, at 1am she is in her bed, scratching her head and whining. i picked her up and she continued scratching. took her into my room, and laid her down beside me. i started massaging her scalp. she sighed and pulled her thumb toward her and popped it in. little black lashes fluttered, then faltered. asleep.

scratchscratchscratch…scratchscratch…scratch…………scratch………………..scratch

victory. she was asleep. back to bed for sela ballerina.

i picked her up and back to her room we headed. the movement woke her up a little and she was awake-ish when i put her down. the hall light was on and i could see her eyes trying to focus on mine, her smile ready and a coo ready to gurgle out of her once she made contact. she removed her thumb and used her hand to brace herself and push her body forwards.

i know someone is out there. please identify yourself, i have a smile for you. we can play.

no, we can’t.

she was motionless for a second, debating her options. she chose "Cute". started a conversation and moved to the side of the cot i was standing at. she was breathing against my hand, like i was a frozen windowpane, and if she would thaw my hand, she would thaw my heart and i would impuslively decide a midnight play was in order.

not gonna happen.

they’re tiring, but i do love these one on one sessions. they make me laugh and see what characters the babies are developing and becoming.

after all, they’re one year old.

as it turns out, charles was up in k10 visiting the babies.

he came back just as the nurses were getting ready to lift my head for the first time following the caesarian. my throat was dryer than ghandi’s sandal, and i was gasping for a drink of water. they allowed me a mouthful of icechips. a nurse was holding a bedpan around my neck, and i can remember thinking as they raised me: i am not going to vomit, i think i will be okay.

and i didn’t vomit.

woo-hoo! i was batting two for two. i knew i was in labour, and i knew i wasn’t going to vomit. practically a doctor.

my incision and the numbness around that area wasn’t bothering me as much anymore. the incision was painful whenever i moved, but if i stayed still, thanks for mr morphine, it wasn’t that bad. but my throat was so sore, and i was coughing up this red goo that i think they stuff down your throat during surgery. and of course moving my stomach muscles was excruciating. i was trying to push down the cough, or just cough a little, but it was impossible. there were big coughs wanting to come out.

i was hallucinating about drinking water. a cold glass of water.

please, may i have something more to drink?

no.

please? i won’t vomit!

maybe a few ice chips.

and charles fed me ice chips.

he had been to see the babies.

are they okay?

yes.

is it two girls and one boy?

actually, yes.

i was glad about this. it was a safe conversation. because we didn’t have names for girls. nothing concrete, anyway. so i hurriedly focused on what we were going to call the girls, and which boy’s name – gus or jasper, we were going to choose.

but quickly, reluctantly, because i was aching to know but i didn’t want to hear bad news, i asked, how are they?

as good as can be expected. stable.

oh okay.i don’t want to hear any more.

and the name debate started.

we knew we liked the name carys. but which girl would get it? it wasn’t like we could look at the girl and see if the name suited her….

are they all covered up in tubes and wires?

sure

are they warm?

yes, they’re under the biliruben lights.

oh. let’s not name them just yet, okay?

we were told the babies had a 60 per cent chance of survival. i didn’t want to name the girls, that would make them more real. if they died, i felt it might be easier if they were nameless. i didn’t know. i just knew i was calm, and needed to stay that way. the precipice between this serene state and the jagged fears was closing in on me. more drugs, please.

we changed the topic and he started listing names of people who were praying for us.

soon enough, it was visiting hours, and while charles went up to the NICU ward to visit the babies and to take pictures, friends stephanie and jane are at my bedside. i had told stephanie to spread the word that i didn’t want flowers. flowers are associated with funerals and babies…and at this time, the two were linked together enough in my mind. and also, flowers are associated with joy…and i had no joy in my heart.

but jane had brought flowers. and she arranged the pretty blossoms for me, and hugged me and prayed for me, as did stephanie. and denby, a good friend of stephanie’s, mother of g/g twins, who is also becoming a good friend of mine, called from australia. i was calm, telling her i had done all i could, and it was in God’s hands now. she was crying, and agreeing with me, and told me God loved them, no matter what.

while stephanie and jane sat with me, dale waited outside. (max: two visitors). dale and stephanie. charles had called them when it had been determined that i was going into labour. her cellular phone wasn’t on. eventually, she answered, and she and dale ran from the shop they were in, and took a taxi to the hospital.

they arrived shortly after charles had witnessed the following:

a guard blocking off three of the six elevators.

a ten minute wait and then

a doctor and three nurses whisking a white bassinette on wheels into the elevator. one nurse was bagging whatever was in the bassinette.

the elevator doors closed.

repeat.

repeat again. except the baby is not being bagged. was it dead?

just as the door closed, my mother called charles, and asked him what was going on. he said i just saw the babies being wheeled into the elevator, i don’t know what’s going on with tess…

how are you, charles?

and he burst into tears.

well, our friends dale and stephanie are coming over to wait with me.

mum was so grateful, and later on, so was i, that charles didn’t have to be alone.

do you know anything about the babies?

i don’t know anything!

well, when you saw them, could you see..

i don’t even know if they are alive!

minutes after hanging up with mum, d&s arrived. and as dale gave him the hug we all wished we could, charles started crying again.

they prayed.

they waited.

dr cora emerged, said they were waiting for me wake up, that the casearean had gone well, and that the babies had been taken upstairs. their weights were very good, she said. right what a singleton’s would have been at that gestational age. to have three that weight was a real accomplishment. that was all she knew. charles was welcome to go upstairs, to k10 where the babies were, a pediatrician could best answer his questions.

another doctor left, and upon being asked by charles the babies gender, started the two boys two girls myth.

but that was all cleared up…and the first day of the babies lives was drawing to a close.

stephanie and jane kissed me one last time.

charles returned from the nursery. he had pictures.

i wasn’t ready to look at them.

i had read in books, and i knew from the encouragement pictures we had on our kitchen wall how big the babies heads were, how long their feet. i couldn’t face an emotional rush, right now i was operating best drained and calm. those babies would rouse love, protection, guilt??? i couldn’t look at them.

charles fed me ice chips. he told me that he had told the nurses to call baby boy (triplet one) jasper, as we agreed.

and suddenly, i was ready to look at the pictures. (1st pic Jasper, 2nd Sela, 3rd Carys) thankfully, the digital screen was small, i dont’ know how i would have reacted if they were larger pictures that indicated how tiny the babies were, how frail looking, how wet, red and sore looking their skin, how tightly the ventilators stretched their little mouths. but you could tell they were babies. barely. you could tell they were human forms under machines.

we prayed, i probably complained, and i took drugs, had my blood pressure and temperature checked, talked to a nurse about starting expressing the next day, and soon after, charles left. even drugged up, i didn’t sleep. i looked at the flowers from jane instead.  regardless of the babies and death association, these flowers were beautiful. colour against the drab curtains, life besides the machinery. i stared at those flowers for hours, and hoped that my babies would have beautiful colourful lives.

and thus ended the babies’ first day in the world.

oh no, they’re coming

I had a great surprise, around 4.30 I was just sitting in my bed feeling very peaceful and happy about the fact that I am not spotting anymore, and may tsui shows up at the hospital. Somehow God weasled her into the ward! It is so good to see her and she prayed with me and really lifted my spirits. God is comforting me, I feel very protected right now.

I have a nice visit with steph and charles and dale, I even walk outside. Not sure that is too approved of. But hey. No more spotting. WHEW!!! Cora will probably come here tomorrow and I will inquire about going home. I know you can keep your bed here, and I will happily pay the $100 per night fee to reserve the spot in case of an emergency or to get checked up a couple of times a day, but I might as well be at home. I can see the flat from my bed, and it makes me cry. I probably should go home tomorrow, or in a couple of days. I am very happy planning my release, and relieved knowing that our wonderful neighbour Lucy is taking sebastian to libby’s playgroup tomorrow. Little man.

Another good neighbour Mel comes by with charles and we have a nice chat. She has chic, that one. She sits on the edge of my bed, flipping through hello! and assures me I will not go into labour for a long time. She is lovely, mel is.

After she leaves, charles and I go into the bathroom. And he gives me a shower. Oh it is wonderful. I just sit in a chair and he washes my hair, hands me my razor, gives my arms and hands a scrub…oh I love that man.

I have to try and get some sleep though. It is cooler than the other night, which is a blessing, but I am emailing charmaine.

I explore charles’ blackberry a little bit and come across a file. In it, I read that MY MUM Is coming to visit me to keep me company during the last weeks of bedrest! She is meant to arrive in a couple of weeks! Isn’t that wonderful!!! I phone charles and tell him YOU ARE SO BUSTED. He knows immediately what I mean. I tell him I love him. This is so great, I am feeling really proud. I beat superspy charles at his own game! I send him an email that if I can beat him at this game, then I can definitely go to 34 weeks.

I rub my tummy, and it almost seems like there is a ridge. Someone’s foot. I have been drinking lots of water (better chance of getting released if I am a good girl and drink all my water!!!) so what is with this foot?? But I suppose that happened with Sebastian as well. We used to play a game, sebastian and I, it was called catch the foot. I would grab and hold his foot when it poked hard against my stomach, and he would try to shake it loose. I also wonder idly, whose foot is it anyway??

…………….

Again, not much sleep. I am keeping the curtain open tonight, last night the heat was stifling. But still, I am uncomfortable. At around midnight, I get an email telling me that our friends Andrew and jin have headed off to the hospital…their third child is en route. I am very pleased for them, I just wish jin was going to be at this hospital. I would talk with her, get to hold and admire their baby.

And I can’t sleep. But I turn on my side, and send emails, and a very short time later I read that jin and Andrew’s baby, jonathan, has been delivered. A big baby, he’s healthy. Parents are well. I am happy.

I look outside and start trying to write. I have a deadline, my articles for tatler magazine and parents journal are due in three days. I start writing away, amending my words. Sending occasional emails to charmaine, who is awake in Canada. I would be writing to pam, but she is at a conference and doesn’t have cell phone access.

I try to sleep, but it does not happen.

Monday, 23 february

At 6am I trudge off to the bathroom and a clot of blood plops into the toilet. It is huge, starts staining the toilet water pink immediately. And this time, I don’t flush, but I call the nurse, and am hustled off to bed. an internal exam reveals my cervix is still shut. These past 24 hours I have convinced myself that it has been the internal examinations that have caused the bleeding. Or maybe it was the hot water from the shower. I have congratulated myself on being so rational, so calm, so unpanicked. 

but I am no longer sure.

Small pains are flickering from my cervix to my belly button. I remember these pains. My back is fine, but these pains are very familiar. It has been over two years since I last had these pains, but I remember them. I can’t ignore the reason I now believe I am bleeding.

I suggest to the nurses that I am in labour, but I am told my cervix is still shut. The contraction monitor is attached to my stomach, and I am told there are small contractions, but nothing serious. The heartrate monitors are strapped to my belly, and this means I have to lift up three times while they get the monitors underneath my stomach. This is burdensome. makes me tired. My belly is no longer malleable. The contraction monitor is put on as well, wedged underneath my bra. They try to get me to take my bra off, but I refuse.i’m getting sweaty and the last thing I want are sloppy sweaty boobs. I concentrate on the fact that the heartrates are fine, and I am grateful, but apprehensive. I can feel it I can feel it I know something is not right.

I am getting frustrated. I am not going to scream, but I am pretty sure what is happening, and to be honest, it is getting uncomfortable. Fast. I call my mother and I tell her what I think is happening. Why does no one believe me that I am in labour? I have not been a difficult patient (except for the bra thing and that was just a few minutes ago.) I see the medical team approaching my bed and I tell her that I have to go.

The medical team parks their seven strong collective personage infront of my bed. The students look impassive. I think they get this from the noncommittal doctor, who looks at me and the contraction monitor and says,

“you are not very good with pain?”. I look at uncomprehendingly and she explains, “these are very mild contractions, yet you say you are in a lot of pain.”

They don’t look at my cervix. you would think with 12 doctors to be, one of them would want a look, but no. not even just one of them and they move on with their clipboards.

They leave me taped to the machine and I just lay on my side.

And wait. And pray. And will the pains away. It’s not working. I start doing the mental arithmetic…yes we got all the steroid shots in, but do they need 48 hours from the first one or from the last one to work? And does the possible brain damage take 48 hours after the first one or the last one to set in?

I feel a strong need to call charmaine, and Claudine.

I don’t know if I have talked at all about Claudine yet. But she is someone I want to talk with. When we worked together, claudes and I were very close. She got another, better job and moved on, and we still saw each other, just not as much. She is a talented journalist. When we moved to pokfulam we didn’t see much of each other, but I know that I can call her and she will love me. So I call her and burst into tears. “Claudine I am in the hospital and I am in labour and they don’t believe me and I know the babies are going to be born today and I just wanted to call you and tell you that I am scared and I love you.”

And I know she loves me too.

My mum, bless her, has called charles, who arrives at the hospital at 9am. Dr Cora is doing rounds. There are no accidents with God. All the doctors take turns doing rounds, and this Monday, it is cora’s turn.

By the time she arrives at my bedside and opens the curtain a little wider, I don’t really want to talk with anyone, and I am lying on my side, holding my stomach. The pains are frequent, every four minutes. Five hours ago I was trying to pass them off as cramps, but no way. Again, my back is exempt from the pain, and the contractions are five inches long…from cervix to belly button and I think, “man, I give good labour.”

Cora takes one look at me, and instructs the nurses to remove the heartbeat monitors (all heartbeats are still good, by the way). SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! Oh what a relief to have those removed. They are scratchy and tight around my stomach.

“I am having these babies” I tell her.

She moved the contraction monitor down to the apex of my stomach. And VOILA, IDIOTS. The monitor jumps from 18 on the pain range to over 60.

I TOLD YOU I WAS IN LABOUR I TOLD YOU I WAS IN LABOUR.

She does an internal…I am five cm dilated. I am going to have these babies soon, she tells me. She turns to her devoted students and says,

How do you know that she was in labour.

They suggest the bleeding, and I am sure they are thinking my crochety manner, and then dr cora says, “no, she was sweating. Always a sure sign of labour. Hard work.”

Even though I don’t want these babies to be born, I am anxious for these pains to stop. This is tough.

Although the steroids haven’t had enough time to strengthen the triplets’ tiny lungs, an emergency section is needed. It starts to get busy around my bed. And I am not a cryer, but I am feeling emotionall void, because all I want is to be left alone and to talk to charles. There are things I need to tell him.

I am asked repeatedly if I have dentures and try to remember what I have eaten since last night. Four grapes since midnight.

And finally, charles and I do get a few minutes together. At around 9.30 while cora is clearing out a delivery room and putting an emergency team together, we stop worrying about the fate of the babies and accept they are going to be born, soon. And we agree no matter what happens, we do not regret that we did not have the selective reduction performed. They all deserve the chance to live. And I tell charles that no matter what happens to the babies, whether they live or die, I will survive any news, as long as he is with me. I am really hurting by now. Charles is clocking the contractions, they are coming every two minutes now. But although the pain is more frequent, it is hurting less than it did one hour ago. The pain is morphing into another memory…constructive pain. Getting-ready-to-deliver-the-babies-pain. And I know that if these babies aren’t sectioned out soon, I will deliver them. the pain is not nice, but unlike last time, i don’t want the pains to stop. i want it to continue and for the babies to stay in. if not for 10 more weeks, at least until 1pm.

And suddenly, it is time. Lots of activity around my bed.

The nurse promises me that charles can stay by my bed until I am put under, and cora had said that it would be okay as well.. And as I am wheeled away I am holding his hand and suddenly I can’t see his face any more. And I am no longer holding his hand. We are in a new, blocked off corridor.

We are in a cold room. “charles?” I say to a nurse. “where is my husband?” he is out there, she tells me. Waiting.

I realise how tough this is for him. I am going to be put under, and he has to wait. How long will it take??? I figure 15 minutes or so…oh wow this hurts.

The anesthiologist and a doctor come in. I am quickly examined and I am told that I am 8cm dilated and in transition. Don’t think in my despair that the pain is blocked out. NO, this hurts.

But vanity and tess are not so easily parted and as cora comes in, I tell her again, “please make the incision low”. You would think that in matters of life and death frivolity would be pushed aside. NOT SO.

The anaesthesiologist picks up my hand. I pray he won’t put anything into my hand, my veins in my hand are so sensitive and it never works out. He is apparently disgusted with my paper thin skin and kinky veins too, because he goes with my wrist. Ouch.

I am praying, and I am ready to give up control. I am also ready to push. This incision will be low, I figure, because it feels like the babies are lined up together ready to jump out.

A nurse squeezes my hand, and tears squeeze out of my eyes. A cool fluid flowing under my skin, meeting my hot blood, counting down from 10, nine and halfway through eighhhhhhhh.

And that is my birth story.

when I wake up, the clock is reading noon. What happened? And there is an incredible searing pain somewhere. My throat is feeling like a skidoo has repeatedly driven up and down it for the last few hours.

I think my babies have been born.

A nurse is there, and I try to talk and the next thing I know, it is 12.20. I try again.

“nurse? babies?”

it is not the same nurse, the kind one who squeezed my hand. It is another nurse.

“upstairs.”

“are they allright?”

“the doctor will come down to you soon. Press this if you are in pain.”

Is she kidding in pain? This is agony! At least you get a break from contractions!!! This is continual, feels like a hot nail is pressing against my tummy and a white hot horseshoe is stirring my intestines and stomach area and I can’t pull away. And my throat…oh man.

Are they girls or boys? I ask the nurse. She tells me two girls and one boy. Hermie is a girl!! Wow! I smile, and then I think more time passes.

Eventually, I am wheeled out into the hallway. I see charles’ face. He is there with our friends, dale and steph. How come they are there I wonder?

And my first loving words to my white faced husband,

“you have no idea how much pain I am in”

and then….”how are the babies?”

they are upstairs in the NICU. Doing okay.

Live?

Yes, he says, looking at me somewhat pityingly, because I am not talking well. My throat is so sore.

Bunny, two girls and one boy.

And now his look is almost condescending, as he reports to me what the doctors have told him, “no, tess, two boys and one girl.”

“really?”

“yes”

“oh”. a new prospect: i am losing my mind or my hearing. i could have sworn that nurse said two girls and one boy. huh. great.

He doesn’t know their weights, he doesn’t know their lengths (we actually never find that out), but he was nearly arrested for videotaping triplet one’s removal from the operating theatre. He does however, after repeated claims from me, have a very good idea that I am in pain.

I start talking to my mother soon after. It might have been a good idea for the drugs to wear off, but add impatient to the vain and prideful list.

I’m fine mum, don’t worry about me, pray for charles and the babies…my throat is sore and I am in so much pain but don’t worry about me pray for charles and the babies. Promise me. Okay bye.

and i can hear from her voice that she is crying and trying not to smile at how ridiculous and confused my repetitive sentences are.

and now charles is gone. has he gone home to get me things? is he hiding the illegal tape he made? or, is he looking at the babies?????

enough memories for today.  more tomorrow.

Well here we go.

Saturday feb 21

The gathering of the storm, Charles and I went in for an appointment with dr cora ngai at 11.20am. it was just meant to be an ultrasound, I had seen her a few days previously. Charles and I discussed as we walked (five minutes walk – it is a flat road) to the appointment how soon I would need to be driven to these appointments. And what we would do later that afternoon. Last time I saw dr cora, I had complained that jasper’s head was jamming into my cervix and I felt like he was going to fall out. She did a quick internal exam and all proved to be well. (aka: there was no baby falling out of my vagina.)

We sat waiting at K5 and I was tired and the seat hurt my back. I put my head in Charles’ lap. This clinic is mainly for IVF patients, who are getting lining checks and we looked at the couples there, some of them watching us, and remembered anew our IVF journey. We looked at the tension and weariness in their faces. How much at stake. And we felt very blessed. I didn’t even complain that we had to wait for 45 minutes. These couples were way more important than we were.

At that time we had no idea that 26 weeks into a pregnancy meant that the babies might live. Dr Luke’s book did mention 26 weeks and surviving babies, but it seemed so unlikely. their heads were the size of tangerines. And then there were all the negative stories. All the mention of “surviving triplets”, which was inconceivable to me. Now that the first trimester bleeding had stopped there was nothing that indicated I wouldn’t go to 34 weeks, although 36 was our secret milestone. Oh we wanted that. Mainly because we wanted to prove to the doctor who had advised selective reduction that we had made the right decision. Tess and pride….virtually interchangeable are we.

So it was a huge surprise when I had assumed the now overly familiar spread eagle position and the magic wand was just starting to interrupt the upside down fuzzy grey fan on the screen, when Dr ngai put down the wand and said, there is something wrong with the machine, excuse me I will just get my colleague.

Charles and I looked at each other, and a very tiny tiny niggling of doubt trembled up my spine. The machine actually looked fine, and after all these IVF’s, we sort of figured we were experts on how ultrasound machines should look and behave. But you never knew, maybe this one needed a new light or something?

I needed a new cervix.

Colleague in tow (head of the obs/gyn department…I recognised him), very slowly, Dr Ngai re-inserted the wand. But it still seemed to be a very external scan. She pointed to the screen and said, “I am not even inside, and I can see the top of the first sac. Triplet one has dropped. We need to do an internal.”

EXCUSE ME?

But jumping into the stirrups was nothing new for me, and so I clambered in, and Dr Cora and Dr Leung (head of the department) checked me out and confirmed what they feared, I was 80 per cent effaced.

Effaced has nothing to do with one’s face. I should note that.

A cervix can do two things…it can get shorter/longer, or open/shut. When they talk about being dilated, that’s the open/shut business. Effaced is shorter/longer, and my cervix was 80 per cent effaced. From 100 it had lost 80 per cent of its…facings???  NOT GOOD. That’s why the sac was peeking through, because there was nothing really holding it up anymore.

I needed to get emergency steroids shots to help develop the babies lungs.

Why?

Because your babies could be born anytime.

These babies? Pointing to my stomach.

I felt confused. The babies born now?? I felt scared. But I also felt God with us. I was calm enough to discuss with dr cora how likely it was that labour would begin. Dr cora and dr leung explained that this does not mean I am in labour, but I do need to be very careful and in case labour does start, take the steroid injections. But…the steroids could cause neurological problems down the road. Yet they recommend that we get started on them right away. They need 48 hours to take effect. They didn’t want to get into huge discussions now…they promised they would come back but right now I needed to get that first shot into me.

I am seriously worried. I get hustled up to the 9^th floor, where I am assigned a bed. I don’t put on the pink pajamas they hand me, instead I wait until charles returns with some XL Victoria secret pajamas and some lunch. I am still trying to eat. I can help my babies by eating. I am given the first injection at 1pm. I have a bed beside the window and I am watching the traffic go by and planning how I am going to survive.

A contraction monitor indicates that while I am having contractions, they are mild and not felt by me at all. They are all registering under 15. and I can’t feel a thing, really I can’t.

By 4pm, the contractions have ceased and I get moved to a new bed. It is also a window view. The ward is hot and some Chinese program is blaring from the television located next to me. I start crying. The nurse asks me why I am crying. I tell her I am scared, and I miss my husband and Sebastian. She says sympathetically, “oh, I thought you didn’t like the bed.” She pats my shoulder and walks away.

Dr cora mentions that there is a chance I will be here until I deliver. The thought of delivering so prematurely petrifies me, but the thought of being here until I deliver depresses me. Because don’t forget, I am delivering in 10 weeks. can I survive 70 days in the hospital? I wonder if I should re-adjust my goals and hope charles doesn’t mind if I suggest the babies be born at 34-35 weeks.

I write in my journal:

Just one week ago I was celebrating Valentine’s day with charles. Just yesterday I could watch television whenever I wanted to or sit down on a toilet seat that didn’t have foot prints on it.

But today I learned that I am almost completely effaced. A cerclage at this point is futile because there is a high likelihood the needle would pierce the membranes, thus beginning labour. The poor cure? A hospital stay. Beginning now, ending apparently with delivery. I just want to go home. I can see our flat from the window. It is so hot on the ward and I can’t imagine staying here for 10 weeks.

On the good side, the babies were measuring well. Little “C” is still dragging behind the others, but only a bit, and you know, all in all, its looking good. They weigh around two pounds each. Can you imagine. Keep growing little ones, you need every ounce. on the lighter side, baby b is either a boy or a hermaphrodite (opinion of most recent dr who did scan, not dr cora. we’ve been calling that baby "hermie" for the last while.

My heart is aching for Sebastian and charles. Especially sebbie who understands nothing of my absence. The guilt is back. Could I have prevented this? I really don’t think so, and that gives me comfort. Will Sebastian be totally screwed up? Will he ignore me? Are the babies going to be okay??

This is going to be a long day. Visitors are not allowed until 6, and can only stay until 8. then it is quiet. Or as quiet as it can be when ladies are in labour. They are trying very hard to be nice here.

I lay in my new bed looking at my stomach. It felt huge and unpenetrable. When I was squatting to sit, I noticed how bending was now impossible. Over the past couple of weeks I have gotten into the habit of showering twice a day to ease the pressure in my back.

I have been given some medication to stop the contractions and it seems to be very effective. It is not magnesium sulfate, which could be counterproductive with the epilepsy, but it is still a relaxant and I am very tired. Not tired enough to sleep, of course.

Charles brings me a nice dinner of chicken and some fresh fruit. It is exactly what I want and I manage to eat most of it. We hold hands and talk optimistically. I will be fine, the contractions have ceased. This is good news.

It is so surreal to be praying that the triplets stay in place for 48 more hours. Whatever happened to 36 weeks??

I read some magazines and a book, and listen to some music. Charles has brought me a cd player and it is soothing. Lights are bright, even though it is late. I cannot sleep. It is hot, and I open the curtain so that I can get some air.

At 1am precisely, I get the second steroid shot. A huge sigh of relief. Halfway there. I send out some email messages on charles’ blackberry to tell friends and family how we are faring. I am tired but the night is dragging. And I cannot sleep. I am already tired of having my temperature and bp taken.

Charmaine is one of the people I send an email to. I love charmaine. She is a fellow IVF survivor, and although we have only met once, we are tres simpatico. when I was hospitalised at the beginning of this pregnancy for OHSS, she called me twice a day, and cried with me when I told her I thought I was dying.

In my emails I try to be upbeat.

I am feeling pretty confident. In the back of my mind, I am planning how I am going to get out of here. The danger is over, let’s start scheming.

Sunday February 22

At around 4am I get up to go to the loo. And I notice that I have passed a clot of blood. I actually have slept for about one hour. Before then I was constantly going to the loo. New rule: tonight, except for medication, drinking stops at 5.30pm or so.

This is scary.

I notice that my cervical mucous has changed from milky white (typical pregnancy yuk) to threaded with blood. Oh this is ominous. I remember being pregnant with Sebastian and MSN’ing pam about this threaded blood stuff. With a shudder of fear I recollect that six hours after I msn’ed with pam about this threaded stuff, sebastian was born.

But the staff is optimistic.

since there are no contractions, it is not labour, they declare.

I am worried that I don’t feel “hermie” kicking. “hermie” is baby b, who is supposed to be a boy, but no one is really certain. We call baby “b” hermie, short for hermaphrodite. I am concerned about hermie.

I am worried these babies will not wait 36 more hours to be born.

I am worried they will die.

I am worried that I have not seen the neurologist who is going to prescribe extra medication for me.

I am worried that I will begin to dilate and that we will have waited too long and we will be in real trouble.

I am worried that I am not getting more monitoring or internals.

I haven’t had an internal since 5am and it is 10am.

Or a fetal heartrate monitor since 8am. I know it takes a lot of time when you are checking for three, but still.

I am going over in my mind wondering if I have done anything wrong. Last Friday I went to the valentines dinner at the church and walking up the stairs really winded me. Was it that? A few days ago I had a yeast infection. Could that have brought about labour? So many women, shorter women than me, go to 35-36 weeks with triplets. That’s what I wanted to do. I wanted to show the doctors who recommended selective reduction to charles and I that our decision to keep all three was the best one, that we had not suffered for it.

While guilt swamps me, the nurse pops along, checks my blood pressure and as she is taking my temperature, another nurse comes along and finds the babies heartbeats. Waiting for them to find the heartbeats is scary business. It seems to take forever. They are practically scanning my lungs the monitor seems so highly placed. They don’t seem to understand the triplets are very close together, and as I have been present every time the heartbeats have been taken I like to think I know where the hearts are located. I end up guiding the monitor myself,

I can understand why the ward doesn’t allow husbands, but I have never needed mine more.

The bleeding continues throughout the day. I see Sebastian and am so happy!!! And even better, the bleeding stopped at 5pm so I have good news for charles upon his arrival.

Sebastian seems fine though. I don’t think he is missing me at all. Hurts the pride, but it is good for him. There are pictures of Sebastian, he has had tea at annie’s and his bath there as well. Paula took and downloaded pictures. They make me cry. Our neighbours continue to be so good to us.

I have also had the third steroid injection. Apparently they will give me some in a few weeks as well, because these ones are going to wear off after a while. I am not sure I want them in a few weeks, because of the potential neurological dangers.

stay where you are babies…..

EVERY DAY COUNTS
EVERY DAY COUNTS

EVERY DAY COUNTS

And although it sounds dramatic, right now, every hour counts.