Giving Birth To Someone Else’s Triplets: The Emotional Roller Coaster
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Giving Birth To Someone Else’s Triplets: The Emotional Roller Coaster

It took me a little longer than expected to write the second half (see link to first half below) of the triplets’ birth story because, frankly, getting things back to normal around here has been difficult. Here I am recovering from major surgery to remove three babies from inside me. My husband could only take a few days off work and once he went back, it was just me and my four children. I had no help, and I had four children depending on me to feed them, change them, bathe them, and provide meals and snacks. I was unbearably sore at times and experiencing emotional highs and lows from wacky hormones. I was an absolute mess. But more on that later…back to where I left off, in recovery after the c-section.

Things Went Fuzzy

I stayed in the recovery room for a good hour or so after the c-section. My lovely nurse gave me a shot of pain medication and things went fuzzy quickly after that. I had been trying to update family and friends and respond to the many messages my phone was blowing up with but I couldn’t even see the buttons anymore. My head was swimming, my speech slurred, I felt drunk. David did his best to get me to relax and try to sleep it off but that was nearly impossible. A million thoughts were running through my mind, but I wasn’t coherent enough to process them and the emptiness was still present.

Drugged and Sleep-Deprived

A new nurse came in to take me into my postpartum room. Still drugged up and unable to move from the waist down, I had no idea how the two tiny nurses expected me to get from the gurney onto the bed. Taking charge as always, David reached across the bed and lifted me into place on the hospital bed. Problem solved. All I wanted to do was sleep at this point. It had been a busy morning with no sleep the night before. He mentioned the IPs and their families wanted to come and see me. Wait, aren’t they with the babies? Turns out the babies had to be evaluated for awhile and no one was allowed to be with them at the moment. I still felt like a sloppy drunk and couldn’t imagine trying to form proper sentences in front of anyone, so asked him to wait on that.

I Was At a Loss for Words

An hour later, still slightly intoxicated, I had a room full of the IPs and both their families and a few of their close friends. Smiles stretched across all their faces, you could see the happiness radiating off each one of them. Everyone thanked me again for the gift I had given their family, and again I was at a loss for words. I was so touched by their words and their gratitude I could hardly keep myself from crying. They didn’t stay long, wanting to let me get some rest. David had to return home and take care of a few things with the kids, so once again I was alone.

Feeling of Being Alone

The feeling of being alone is a deep dark place for me, I hate it. Having four kids, alone time is rare; the house is always bustling with noise whether it’s squeals of laughter or them shouting at each other. Here the silence was deafening, the emptiness taking over. Each time I was left alone in the two days of my hospital stay, I could feel depression and sadness taking over. Aside from David and my IPs, I had one friend visit. One person cared enough about me to see how I was doing, to show her love and support for me. I knew I needed to go home, get out of this dark place that was consuming me.

Baby Steps

The next morning it was time to get out of bed for the first time. I was nervous and scared to move my stomach muscles. Just slightly adjusting my position in bed had proven to bring pain, so walking for the first time would surely be difficult. Using my arms to brace the majority of my weight, I got to the edge of the bed. I pushed the pain from my mind, holding onto David for dear life, and soon I was up on my feet. My legs felt weak and like they were going to collapse at any moment; my incision burned, my insides pulled. One baby step at a time, I walked across the room into the private bathroom with David assisting my every move. Suddenly everything went fuzzy and black. David rushed to get me to the shower seat. My blood pressure had dropped really low. My first trip out of bed and I black out, how embarrassing!! The nurse refused to let me up again, calling for a wheelchair to get me back into bed.

Three People Alive Because of Me

I got to see the babies once before I left the hospital, unable to touch them because of everything they were hooked up to, providing them with more oxygen. I felt guilty for them being in that condition. Even though I did everything the doctor instructed and had two rounds of steroids, I felt it was my fault they were there. In my right mind I know that isn’t true because you can’t control your water breaking, but there is that little voice always planting doubt. Still, I had to be proud. There were three little people alive because of me; I had given the IPs their dream of a family.

The Scar

There is a scar that will never fade, never go away, stretched across my lower stomach. This scar represents many things. For one, it shows courage to follow my gut when I felt surrogacy was something I was supposed to do. It represents life and the fact that I had given life to three babies at once and that my body was able to take on that task. I can take pride in my scar because while I do not have the babies to raise, the scar will forever be a part of me as they once were and always will be. At 29 years old, I have birthed seven children, four of my own and three for my IPs. Simply amazing.

Read Triplets Birth Story: Part I

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