Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Having preemies affords some unique life experiences.
Like being friends with quadruplets.
I met my friend Not-Jane* in our Parents' Reaching Out meetings at the NICU. After J's birth, I was in desperate need of a support group. I was lost in the unknown, and the group of women I met in those meetings were the first people to validate my feelings. I am still in touch with a few of them.
I saw Not-Jane at the first meeting I attended. She was slim, and I had absolutely no clue she had multiples until she introduced herself. It turned out that J was only two days older than her four babies and that he was about a week more premature. I liked Not-Jane almost from the beginning, and I was curious about her experience of having four babies. After six weeks of passing each other in the NICU corridors, we became friends.
Not-Jane was a bright spot during long days, and I looked forward to daily check-ins with her. I remember huddling next to J's bassinet, lost in frustrating thoughts, and seeing her walk through the doorway. We shared information and a little NICU gossip, and some of my clouds began to lift. Her friendship provided a sense of normalcy in a situation so outside the norm.
After J was discharged, I visited her at the Ronald McDonald house until the last of her babies was transferred to the NICU in her hometown. Then, I drove an hour and a half from my house to hers about once a month. It was RSV season, so we didn't take our babies into public, for anything. Visiting her was respite from a very lonely winter.
I'll never forget watching her juggle those babies. She lined up Boppies and marked bottles and organized a system to meet her babies' needs. J was a very difficult baby during his first year, but seeing her conquer chaos was a reminder to me that my problems were temporary and could be overcome.
We celebrated surviving that winter with our first March of Dimes walk in April. We did it with other families we'd known in the NICU, and I was the only mother there who didn't have multiples. With us were a set of twins, triplets, and quads. I was amused at all the double-takes and questions, because I could watch from the sidelines. No one noticed my singleton.
Every public outing for Not-Jane came at a price. People asked the most intrusive questions, like whether she had used fertility treatments to get pregnant. (When did that become an acceptable question for strangers to ask other strangers?) During our trips to the zoo, streams of people would stop us and ask if her babies were quads, and most of the comments were repetitive: "I don't know how you do it!" and "I couldn't have four babies!" and "They're ALL yours?" Not-Jane had apparently heard the same things over and over at restaurants and grocery stores and everywhere in between because she appeared unfazed, but one time she leaned toward me and said, "What is my choice? I'm not going to stop going places because I have four babies." I always admired that attitude, that her kids shouldn't be punished because they were multiples, and as a result, her kids were excellent in public, even with people staring at them.
My favorite comment was when J was still a baby, and all five of our babies were lined in a row. Someone said, "You have FIVE BABIES!" Not-Jane replied, "Yes, we have quints," and we laughed. We often met for lunch in the city. One time we streamed into a restaurant with our toddlers, who still looked like babies, and we occupied every high chair the place owned. I looked around the table at all those kids in all those high chairs, and I heard Jane's voice saying, "We are the lucky ones." I wanted to proclaim to the rest of the diners in the restaurant our success story, all the statistics these children had beaten.
And then I added M to our preemie brood, and Not-Jane mourned the fact that I'd missed out on another full-term pregnancy. I didn't have to explain it. I knew she understood. She was one of the first people I told that I didn't feel like I was done having kids, even though I'm done having babies. I knew she would understand that too.
Over the last year, circumstances have made our get-togethers more rare, and now I have moved five hours away. But, Not-Jane held my babies before most of their families did. She was one of three people I texted that I was being hospitalized with preeclampsia with M. I remember her kids as they were in the NICU, what each one of them looked like, and I can tell you most of the challenges her kids have overcome.
Some people sweep into your life at just the right moment. They laugh with you, worry with you, and cry with you. And no matter where they go in life, you feel a connection. With so many little people to consider, we seldom see each other, and when we are together, our conversations are punctuated with the chatter of six other voices. But, I am always glad to see Not-Jane, and I can hardly remember all my NICU firsts without thinking of her.
*Clearly, Not-Jane is not her real name. I'd like to protect her privacy, since she doesn't go blogging all over the Internet like me. One of my favorite bloggers Beth Woolsey gives pseudonyms in this form, and it always makes me smile.