I lost my lovely twins
Tragically, both twins died.
Friday 25th July 2008
Inside, I was in pieces. But on the outside, I managed to force a weak smile, as I held our 5-year-old son, Callum, on my lap and listened to my husband, Gavin.
'One of the twins in Mummy's tummy is poorly,' Gavin said gently.
'So you're only going to have one little brother or sister now.'
I could feel the lump rising in my throat, as I desperately tried not to break down.
'But I'll still have one?' Callum said eventually.
'Of course,' I gulped, unable to meet his eye.
It was only when Gavin and Callum were both asleep, that I cried. The day before, I was having my 23-week scan at Manor Hospital in Walsall, when the consultant told us that one of the twins had a condition called hydrops.
'It means their body is making too much fluid for the organs to deal with,' he said.
'How can you treat it?' asked Gavin.
'I'm afraid there's nothing we can do,' the doctor explained. 'The baby won't last the weekend. Hopefully, we can save the other twin.'
I was heartbroken. And, worst of all, had been having to break the news to Callum. He'd been so excited about having twins to play with. So I knew I had to hold it together. For Callum. For Gavin. And the twins.
When Monday arrived, I had another scan. I couldn't believe it when it showed two heartbeats.
'The little fighter,' I whispered.
'The fluid's still building up,' the doctor warned. 'We just have to wait and see. You'll need scans twice a week to keep an eye on the healthy twin and make sure she's doing OK.'
'She?' I said quickly. 'There's a girl?'
We'd already decided on the name Bethany for one.
'They're both girls,' he said.
'Let's call her Hope,' I told Gavin.
And hope was all we could do over the next two months. As December 2007 wore on, I had scans twice a week at Birmingham Women's Hospital. Gavin had been made redundant from his job in IT, so he was able to come to every one. Everything seemed to be going well until 31 December, when I woke up at 6am with agonising pains.
'I'm in labour,' I said, shaking Gavin awake.
'But you're only 29 weeks gone,' he panicked.
'It feels just like when I had Callum,' I groaned.
By the time we got to Manor Hospital, my contractions were five seconds apart and I was fully dilated.
'We're going to give you a Caesarean section under a general anaesthetic,' the doctor said.
Someone put a mask over my face, then everything went black.
When my eyes opened, I saw Gavin.
'Where are the girls?' I asked.
'Hope didn't make it,' he whispered. 'But Bethany's in the neonatal unit.'
My heart broke and soared at the same time. As soon as I could, I went to see my little girl. She looked so vulnerable, connected to all the wires and her ventilator. She was only 2lb 2oz, but I was sure she'd fight. And she did. But it wasn't enough. Five days after she was born, she had an operation on her bowel, and afterwards, her health deteriorated.
Just two days later, on Monday, 7 January, the doctor gave us the most heartbreaking news.
'She's not going to make it,' he said. 'Her brain has died, so she can't move or breathe on her own. We're going to have to switch off her ventilator.'
Like a zombie, I phoned my parents, Brian, 62, and Margaret Hustin, 55, and they came to take Callum home. Then my best friend, Indi Dulay, 31, arrived with our mate, Maria Meads, 36. They were with us when, at 3pm the next day, the doctor switched off the life-support machine. Gavin and I held her, and watched as her skin turned yellow and the life drained out of her.
At 3.50, her tiny chest rose and fell one last time, and her heart stopped. I'm convinced mine did, too.Clutching her in my arms, my tears dripped on her cheeks as I rocked back and forward. I don't know how long I held her, but soon, a nurse came in.
'Make her comfortable,' I sobbed, as I kissed my baby goodbye for the last time.
Back at home, we had to break the news to Callum. Gavin lifted him onto his lap.
'Bethany's not coming home…' he said, before his voice gave way.
Callum burst into tears.
I didn't know how to console him then, or on 22 January, when our girls were buried in one coffin at Willenhall Lawn Cemetery. After that, I was forced to lead a double life. When Callum was about, I'd put on a brave face, take him to his favourite place — Dizzy Kidz play area, Willenhall — or play with him. But when he was at school, or in bed, I'd sit on the settee, crying. The only thing that got me through was watching DVDs. They let me think about something else, even if it was just for a few minutes. I lost count of the times I watched my favourite, Dirty Dancing.
Gavin knew I was struggling. But one day in May, he came back from dropping Callum at school, smiling.
'I sent a letter in to Pick Me Up,' he said, sitting down next to me. 'It was about how amazing you've been for me and Callum. I was hoping they'd send you some flowers.'
'Really?' I said, my eyes welling. 'But I feel like a failure.'
Gavin held my hand.
'A writer phoned and said flowers weren't enough,' he said. 'I told them you love Dirty Dancing. So they're going to send us to London to stay at a hotel, and see the show.'
'You're joking,' I gulped, suddenly overcome with emotion. 'But…'
I wasn't sure. Would I even be able to enjoy myself after losing the girls? But the more I thought about it, the more I knew it was just what I needed. So three weeks later, on Friday 23 May, with Callum staying with Mum and Dad, we got the train to London. Before we knew it, we'd arrived at The Cavendish Hotel in Piccadilly.
'It's gorgeous,' I said happily, as we dropped our suitcase on the huge bed, then went to see Dirty Dancing at the Aldwych Theatre. The atmosphere was amazing, and as that famous line: 'Nobody puts Baby in a corner,' echoed
round the auditorium, I laughed for the first time in months.
The next day, we bought presents for Callum, Indi, and my parents. And as we got the train back home, I couldn't stop smiling.
'I feel like I've been able to breathe for the first time in months,' I told Gavin.
'You deserved it,' he said. 'Callum and I would never have got through this without you.'
Bethany and Hope are going to be with me forever, but hopefully, time will help me cherish what we had together, and move on. Gavin and I are so grateful to Pick Me Up for helping us do that. It might seem like a small thing, but those few days in London made me feel so much stronger. I really did have the time of my life.