Quadraphobia: Part 2

This is part 2 of Quadraphobia. For part 1 go here.

In the main delivery room, they made a long vertical incision, pushed Emma to the side, and at 10:38 p.m. pulled out Caleb first—the one at greatest risk. Thirty seconds later came Emma, then Grace, and finally Rebecca, all within just two minutes time.

Once delivered, each baby was intubated and given IV’s. They placed each one in an Isolette, and a team wheeled it to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit across the hall. I watched as a parade of Isolettes flew past me, each one with several medical staff attending.

Our neonatologist was on the far side of Lake Coeur d’Alene when he got word that the quads were being delivered. He told me later he drove his Suburban at speeds exceeding 100 miles per hour on I-90 to get to the hospital. When blue lights flashed in his rear-view mirror, he held a stethoscope out his window, and they let him go. I’ve kept a stethoscope in my glove box ever since.

He got there in time for the procedure.

Each time a baby is born at Sacred Heart Medical Center, chimes ring on the overhead paging system all over the hospital. When four chimes in a row rang, word spread throughout the hospital—The Quads were born!

A few minutes after their birth, a hospital bed came out with Lisa on it. Still under general anesthetic, she had tubes and wires everywhere. She was on a ventilator. The sight of her almost made my knees buckle. Every muscle in my body ached, like I’d been steer wrestling. And lost! I followed her entourage down an elevator to ICU.

I went back to pacing the hall while numerous medical staff came and went from her room. After they got her settled, I was allowed to come in for a few minutes. She wasn’t conscious, but I held her hand and told her I loved her. I informed her the kids were all being cared for in NICU. “Don’t go anywhere,” I said, “I need you now more than ever.” I kissed her cheek and went back upstairs to check on the babies for the first time.

They allowed me into NICU to see them. The large room was filled with a couple dozen Isolettes, four of them belonging to my kin. Little alien-like creatures, their eyes were still closed. They were too young to even cry.

But I did. Those little red fetuses were beautiful to me—four miracles. We were going to need more miracles.

Emma, the smallest, weighed in at 1 lb. 6 oz. Caleb, the largest, was 1 lb. 11-1/2 oz. I wasn’t allowed to touch them, they were too fragile. Like Lisa, they had tubes and wires with pieces of white cloth tape holding them to their delicate skin. I put the palm of my hand on one of the Isolettes, the only thing I could think of doing to express my love.

I spent the night going back and forth between ICU and NICU. At about four in the morning I tried to get some shut-eye on a sofa in the elevator lobby, outside the doors of ICU. I don’t remember getting actual sleep; my stomach tied in knots, frustrated at my own helplessness.

When the sun came in the window of the lobby, I went back into the ICU unit for the dozenth time. I felt relief when they told me Lisa had turned the corner and was awake. I went in, and she managed a weak smile. When she spoke, she could only whisper, but she asked me how the babies were doing.

How do you answer that? “Fine” didn’t seem to be an appropriate response. “They’re alive.” I smiled.

I knew I had to call Josh, my five-year-old, and tell him about the birth of his siblings. He stayed at my brother’s house while the rest of us were at the hospital. It had been late at night when the babies were born, well after his bed-time, but now I could call him.

My brother’s place was out in the country, and Josh had caught a grasshopper and a spider, putting them in jars. When I told him he was a big brother, he said, “Really? Well, guess what, Dad. My spider is building a web.”

That’s my Josh.

At that moment I envied him. Because to a five-year-old the entire world is a wonder. Babies and spider webs hold equal fascination.

But as an adult, my mind focused on the fact that I currently had five family members in critical condition.

When I saw Lisa’s doctor, she informed me that they had almost lost her that night, something I had sensed already. Thankfully, she got better. They released her a few days later, and she even went back to work within the month. Since she worked in the same hospital, she visited the babies during her breaks.

The Quad’s stay in the hospital took longer. For months I came to the hospital every single day. Over a dozen surgeries, countless infections, and other complications became the routine for us. Some days I had to rush to Sacred Heart from work or home because things looked dire. I knew I might be saying goodbye to one of them any day.

But slowly, they gained strength. After three months Rebecca came home. Grace and Emma came home two weeks later.

Rebecca is blind due to Retinopathy of Prematurity. Grace has Cerebral Palsy due to a congenital brain abnormality having nothing to do with being a multiple or premature. Emma, despite being the smallest, had the fewest physical challenges.

Caleb stayed in the NICU for six-and-a-half months. He lived there his whole life. On March 8, 2000, he succumbed to a rare lymphatic disorder. It is in no way connected to prematurity.

I barely had time to grieve at the time of Caleb’s death. We were so busy at home taking care of the other three. Thank God for all the support we got. Both sides of the family live here in Spokane and they put in countless hours feeding, changing, and caring for the girls. Not to mention the many volunteers from our church that came and helped with the babies or with much needed remodeling. I considered installing a revolving door in front, our little house was so busy.

For me, those months are a fog. It still doesn’t seem real to me. It’s more like a dream I had or a movie I watched. I plodded through each day, doing what I knew I had to do, but my emotions were dulled. I think it was a way God insulated me from the full frontal barrage of my situation.

Many people said to me that God doesn’t give anyone more than they can handle. They concluded I must be special.

Horse hockey.

Everybody faces a battle no one else can imagine. My belief is that God gives everyone more than they can handle. When we face a crisis, we can either manage it the best we can, give up, or turn to God.

Still, I faced times of doubt. There were times when I felt pretty sorry for myself, thinking God had dealt me a bad hand. But He never failed. When I turned back to Him, He was there to get me through it all.

Which is how I conquered my quadraphobia.

I have no regrets about decisions we made. I’m especially glad we didn’t choose to let two babies die. Even with special needs, these three girls have been nothing but a blessing. But if someone asks me about fertility treatments, I recommend adoption. Fewer risks.

The girls turn twenty years old on August 20^th.

A staff writer with the Spokesman Review, Kelly McBride, wrote a couple of articles about us and multiple births in Spokane. She quoted me as saying “I figure we will probably continue to feel overwhelmed for 20 years or so.”

I guess that makes me a prophet.

***

Tell me about an experience that has brought you to your knees. How did you handle it?

John 16:33