The First Ultrasound. (IT'S TWINS!) 2/9/2015

The big day had arrived. February 9th, 2015. Our first ObGyn appointment.

I could barely sleep even the day before, waking up at 6:45, thinking about the next day. Like I was waiting for Santa to bring me my goodies.

We rolled out of bed at 7:30 in time to get to Kaiser by 8:00. We inched down the side streets in Justin's Suburu toward the clinic I worked at for years my last go around in Portland. It seemed like it was taking forever to get there. I was worried we'd be late. But we were on time, and there was ample space in the parking garage.

The lady checked us in. "We don't know where to go."

"Down the hall, first waiting room on your left."

We were the only ones there. After a while a pregnant lady emerged from the door. I stared and tried to imagine myself in her shoes.

After sitting for about ten minutes, they called my name. I felt a little like we were in the wrong place. What if I wasn't really pregnant? What was going to happen? We followed the nurse back as I nervously chattered about nothing.

The intake nurse covered the basics: The father's name and age, last menstrual period, pertinent history, weight and blood pressure. We spent about forty five minutes talking about nothing. She went over a food diagram, telling me to eat vegetables and whatnot. Documented exercise. She said I was healthy and was right on track. "So many patients ask me, "Where's the french fries on this diagram? Where's the chips?" I don't eat those anyway. I told her I was having problems getting food down. I didn't like broccoli anymore.

Next we were ushered into an exam room down the hall. The medical assistant led us into the cramped room. I could barely see a place to sit down my backpack. Justin found a chair crammed next to the exam table. "Take all your clothes off and sit on the exam room table."

It was the first time anyone was with me in an ObGyn appointment.

I was worried I was going to be embarrassed. But I didn't care.

I piled all my clothes up and gave them to Justin. "I see your butt." He said.

Who wouldn't in that gown that was big enough for three of me?

The feeling of sitting in an exam room naked and exposed with your partner next to you, ignorance exposed, not knowing what is next. We joked and waited wondering how it would go.

Our nurse practitioner came in. Ruddy curly hair going in every direction. A white lab coat, kinda big and glasses. The disarray made me nervous.

She introduced herself. And asked a few questions. There was a quick and discrete breast exam. And then the pelvic. I told Justin what they did beforehand as a warning. It was all very fast.

She dimmed the lights and pulled over a machine.

Being completely stupid, we didn't know what was happening.

"Are you ready for the ultrasound?" She brandished a white wand in her hand.

"I didn't even know they were doing to do that today." I had wanted to ask but didn't.

She inserted the wand and we all watched the screen.

I was half expecting her to tell me I wasn't even pregnant. It would be sort of embarrassing. But I'm sure it's happened before.

A dark hole appeared on the screen with something inside it. She moved it around again and we saw it from another angle. It seemed like we were pregnant.

"Do you see what I see?" The wild haired lady asked us.

"Uhh, a baby?" We were confused. We hoped it was a baby.

There was a pause.

"It's two."

Tears were rolling out of my eyes. I covered my face. This wasn't really happening was it?

All that nausea starting at three weeks. Instantly sore breasts.

My mom saying, "I think it's twins." Thinking she was crazy.

Justin sat in the corner quietly crying too. I felt so dissociated. A different person. An alternate reality. Where was I? This wasn't really happening. It seemed so fake. So unreal.

"One measures 9 weeks 5 days, one 9 weeks 3 days."  One appeared to be dancing.

"Oh shit." We said.

She said, "I know it's shocking. It will take some time to get used to it. You can still have a healthy pregnancy. But they won't let you go past 38 weeks. Most twin pregnancies deliver at 36-38 weeks."

I guess we weren't gonna have to have the oldest kid in school after all.

I started imagining a giant belly and birth complications.

"The only thing is that you've gone from a healthy normal pregnancy to a high risk pregnancy. You'll probably have to meet with some of the MDs and we'll establish a team to take care of you."

"How were the heartbeats?" I asked.

"They were both good. In the 180s I'd guess. I forgot to tell you- I was distracted by there being two. "

Well that was good. Two heartbeats. Two babies. Two placentas. Separated by a wall. Most likely fraternal.

She said goodbye.

The medical assistant returned, "I heard you got the BOGO offer!" We all roared with laughter. Just what we needed.

Our visit was done. We walked out stunned and dazed.

We had a 1.67% chance of a natural twin pregnancy (meaning we were not on fertility), accounting also for our older age which increased the risk.

In Favor of Real Connection.

Not that I haven't threatened to do this before. But this time I actually did it.

I deactivated my facebook account.

I'm tired of the endless hours of useless information. Like what car my coworker bought. Or a photo of friends dressed up on vacation in Mexico. Or an anti-vaccine muse. Or anything really. Does it add any substance to my life? It seems no different than spending hours watching TV reruns.

We kid ourselves that this is real connection.

On Sunday morning, I had breakfast with one of my old friends who I haven't seen in about six months. Both of us encumbered by work and other personal dramas led to the big gap in connection.

I rolled out of bed early, slipped into my rainpants and rainjacket and rolled down the streets. Which on a Sunday morning were silent as the night. The light drizzle was enough to warrant the rain gear but not enought to be any sort of problem. I thought, "This is my church."

We met up at a small wooody Scandinavian place in North Portland. I was a little anxious about the possibility of feeding a vegetarian in Northern European cuisine. I remember Norway as one of the least vegetarian friendly countries in the world. But I ended up with a traditional Finnish porridge with homemade applesauce and potato pancake. Both perfect. And filling enough.

We sat for hours talking over our breakfasts.

I was worried they would kick us out of our table. But no one said a word.

The in person connection doesn't resemble social media in the least.

We left feeling filled up. And joyous at our breakfast together. Saying, "We have to do this in a month again."

I thought of all the times I felt like I was too busy to meet with someone. How I needed to stay home and have time to myself.

I think what we really need- what we really crave- is true connection.

So, I hereby start my social media hiatus. In favor of life with real people in real time.

Chocolate Cream of Wheat

Flannel jammies. Navy with tiny pink flowers. Hand-sewn by my mom so we could sleep free of non-flammable toxicity while dreaming.

My dad's stories: the farm, the air force, anything in his caramely deep voice. His smile shined through the dark from the corner where he sat in the hand-painted blue chair that my parents stole from a bar in Red Lake Falls.

In the darkness alone, partial dreamland. Wondering if this is real. When will I wake up? Why hasn't the world stopped? Was it all a dream?

My mom stumbles along, one foot in front of the other. Barely upright. Trying not to die herself of grief. Each morning she prepares chocolate Cream of Wheat for Carrie and me before school.

Bouncing along the green vinyl seats in our yellow Bluebird bus. Gus at the wheel. French-braiding Carrie's hair as we rolled through the countryside to Douglas Elementary. Trying my best to put things back in order.

coming home

the hush of the portland airport
jeans and plaid and backpacks and beards
lumbering along the wacky teal carpet
i sigh and exhale--  the relief of familiarity

sherbet fog hovering over the morning landscape
white shimmery mount hood peeking out of the ground
year round velvety green grass
that smell of moist winter air- not too hot, not too cool
plodding through the wet grass
squishing in the mud running through fernhill

walking to our grocery store
bailey leading the way
piles of organic produce
neighbors eating quietly

i forget sometimes how nice it is here.

after nine days on an island out east
so glad to be home.

Drowning

The enclosed space of heat and water. The air so thick with chlorine and humidity it’s hard to see the other side. The ceiling feels like it’s hanging too low and closing in. A few glass-topped round tables and chairs are scattered along the side for parents and guests. We’re in the pool at the Holiday Inn and my dad is supposed to be watching us.

I cautiously drift down the stairs, sensing the pull of the water wanting to suck me in. At the bottom, my feet reach for the ground. I feel nothing but space and movement. I know I should not go further. So I hold onto the slippery silver handrail while I kick and flutter. Feeling the warm water moving between my toes and legs.

I look up. My sister’s coming in too. Down the stairs and right into the too deep water without realising the consequences. I hang tightly onto the shiny railing as she grasps at me, trying to get back to safety. Flailing and panicking, she loosens my grip from the handle and we slide into the deep water.

Tenuous. Life is.

We jump in before we know where we’re going. 

Sometimes we take those we love most with us.

The water's warm and bubbly.

We bob up and down. Gasping for air.

I know she didn’t mean to get us into this place.

She is holding on with a vice grip. Visceral animal fear. Fighting for her life like all beings do.

I’m trying to swim us back, but I can’t move. I try to scream but it's lost underwater. We’re going under. I’m gasping water. Thinking it's the end. I love my sister, but I can’t save us.

If only she hadn’t jumped in.

I keep remembering this. Like a feedback loop. She didn’t mean to. We are drowning and nothing can be done.  

We are still in the pool. Treading water. Trying to save our lives.  

She goes, and I go. I won't push her off and let her drown.

Just when I think we took our last breath, someone jumps in and pulls us out of the pool. It is not the end after all. We get another chance.