Original Twin

Thoughts and opinions from Twintown

[original-twin-blog]

Episode 4 - The Reluctant Birth Story

The perfectionist in me really can’t help but  approach these ramblings chronologically, which leads me once again, to a topic I don’t really enjoy talking about.  I can’t discuss pregnancy in my last episode without detailing the ‘birth story’ next.  

I used to revel in the retelling of the twins’ arrival.  I would go into great detail about the awkward intricacies of each examination and each stage of labour.  Now I can barely recall the name of the hospital without my scarlet cheeks swelling with the memories.  On reflection, I can only assume my ongoing conversations with two unresponsive newborns wasn’t quite stimulating enough and so I bored the pants off anyone who would listen. Or, the zeal with which I threw myself into the retelling was some kind of survival strategy.  Telling the tale somehow made sense of things.  It validated that what happened, actually happened.  I was naked, walking around a room moaning.  I did tell the midwife that we should exchange numbers because we were best friends for life.  Things happened that will only happen in that environment and circumstance;  I had to confirm it did, in fact, happen to me.  I digress, the point is it is not without a few toe curls that I share with you the details of Original Twin-babies’ arrival.  

60% of twin births are carried out via cesarean section.  There are a number of factors which make a section more likely; a low lying or shared placenta can cause problems during delivery.   A quick delivery might be important due to one baby getting most of the nutrients and so the other baby’s growth is slowed or, twin-mums can request a section if they wish for it.  The most common reason is that one of the babies is transverse (lying horizontal across bump) or breech (bum/legs pointing down).  When twins are born, everything takes twice as long for baby#2 (this is what the professionals call the baby that's furthest away from the exit, I irrationally felt bad for our  #2 as it really felt like she was being labelled second best from the start).  So if there are any complications the situation can turn very dangerous very quickly.

Our opinions in all of our consultations was that we would just sheep-follow the advice of the hospital staff shepherds. Their years of experience definitely outweighed our total lack of knowledge on the subject.  I’m pretty active, so I prefered to avoid the recovery of a section but as long as we had two healthy babies, we really didn’t care.  In our last scan before their arrival, the twins were head down and in a good position.  We planned therefore for a vaginal birth and that’s what we got.  

Note the really ugly use of the word ‘vaginal’.  There’s a reason for this. The alternative is to use the phrase ‘natural birth’.  Many women believe this implies that a section is in someway unnatural - a belief I can totally understand.  My experience (and there will be some that disagree) was that having babies torn out of my body didn’t feel very ‘natural’. I’m not sure a section would have been much different.

As it turned out, actually going in to labour was a bit of an anticlimax.  Being so uncomfortable towards the end of my pregnancy; I was in early labour for a day or two without knowing it. I’d been very uncomfortable; the aches and pains had worsened. I scowled at anyone who could get out of a chair unaided.  I just thought the haulage had taken its toll - my body preparing for the ordeal it was to undergo in 6 weeks time. In fact my waters had ‘ruptured’ (there’s something so gross about the pronoun use here.  I feel like an ardent feminist declaring ownership of ‘my’ amniotic fluid - eugh). A quick call to Triage and a journey to Hospital told us that I’d stay the night on the ward for observation, scheduled to return home the following day.  The aim was to keep Original Twin-twin babies in for another couple of weeks.  So, I settled down to an evening of piling my swollen elephant-legs into compression socks and re-positioning my bed approximately every 30 seconds.  At around 01.00,  I heard a massive pop, had a gargantuan wee all over the floor and then experienced the most powerful, consuming, much-worse-than-I-had-ever-imagined contractions. Breathtaking, scary, overwhelming labour officially arrived.  My trembling mass was escorted to the delivery ward, leaving a trail of leaking fluid behind me.  The midwife started to ask “Have you thought about what type of pain relief”... “epidural” was my definitive response.  I have never been so certain of anything in my life.  

Although I successfully forgot some of the early trauma of labour, I will never ever forget the part played by my doting Husband, Original Twin-Dad. Let me set the scene.  He had left me in the ward for home; he had work the next day and we both expected my hospital stay to be brief.  No doubt he enjoyed some mindless television to ease his lonely evening away from the bloated, whinging thing which had recently replaced his wife.   He went to bed early; it had been a long day.  

Switch to original twin, waiting for epidural - unable to stop apologising and exclaiming “I’m one of those women!”  “I can’t do it!”. There was also some mooing and swearing at this point.  I tried to call my husband.  Straight away in fact I was repeat dialling his number. I tried countless times with no reply.

He was asleep.

I was under siege and the Husband was AWOL.  The hospital took over the responsibility of establishing contact. Facial expressions completely wild now, a midwife trying to dress me in my fancy ‘boyfriend shirt’ brought along so I looked good whilst labouring (pah!).  We accepted defeat and I donned the backless gown.  A severe lady entered with the drugs and ordered me on the bed.  I hadn’t been able to bend down to put my shoes on for at least 3 weeks but this absolute chief of a woman got me sat with my head between my legs width ways on a narrow hospital bed.  What a boss.  

The epidural was delivered and chaos was replaced with calm, and yet there was still no break in the husband radio silence.  I’d relaxed and felt like a human being again so I had the foresight to alert a good friend and neighbour of mine.  She ended up knocking on my front door until original Twin-Dad chose to return from the land of nod.  So an hour after things kicked off and 89 missed calls later, my husband entered the delivery suite ready to provide deeply emotional and spiritual support to the now sedated, sleepy, really pissed off wife.  

Labour from then on was pretty boring. I could feel each contraction but I wasn’t in pain so I was drifting in and out of sleep for the whole time. I have two lasting images: my husband on his phone and the midwives making notes.  Nobody seemed very interested in me really.  Then it all kicked off.  Stage two of labour began - this is where you push.   Things were now very uncomfortable regardless of the pain relief. For an hour it went on until they decided I should push no longer and they would intervene. So off we all went to theatre for some forcep action.

Having twins in theatre is really hilarious.  You’re shimmied through quite quickly, signing forms as you go through.  Thank goodness Original Twin-Dad was there ( I had forgiven him his tardy arrival) I was emotional and confused and giving them permission to cut my body open.  When you get there, you realise there are lots of other people in the room. All focused on your lady-cabbage.  It’s absurd.  Paediatricians, Midwives, Anaesthetists, Assistant Anaesthetists, Trainee Midwives and a gaggle of other trainees just in for the experience.  At one point there was a loud beeping in the room which made us panic… turns out it was all of the pagers in the room going off simultaneously.

So quite quickly after arriving, baby #1 was freed. The baby that had grown inside me all of that time, was now a squidgy little snuglet in my arms, eyes open, tasting its first breaths of outside air.  The feeling at that point, for both of us was astonishment to the point of shut down.  If we were a drawing in a comic, there would simply be a massive exclamation mark over our heads.

Then we had to go again.  Whilst #1 was being checked out, #2 was on its way.  Hilariously, someone has to actually hold the baby in place from the outside, during the time between the two babies being born to stop it from changing position. I couldn’t help thinking there must be a more whizzy way of doing that.  That lady would have been glad of a job though; the rest of us just looked at one another, smiling occasionally, for 13 minutes - like a very messy fag break.  They asked me to let them know when there was a contraction and then #2 was ready to join her sister.  Two little girls, all cherub-like and covered in yuck.  

And that was that.  Two beautiful girls successfully birthed into the world and we were entirely responsible for their happiness, safety and well being for the rest of our lives.  Equal parts ecstasy and terror.  

More importantly though, my reluctant birth story is now told and I never have to use the word ‘Vaginal’ again.  Win.  

[original-twin-blog]

Episode 3 - A Bump in the Road

There’s no way I can embark on this twin commentary, without dedicating some time to the act of carrying them.  You might pick up just a hint of reluctance here, and you would be right to because I really, really don’t want to talk about it.  My pregnancy was not the earth-mother, love your bump connection with the unborn that I was led to believe it would be. For me, it was a painful, confusing, 9 month struggle which I was not prepared for.  

Obviously not everyone has the same experience as me.  Some Mums really do love pregnancy and have a very lovely time of it, which is great.  Tragically, some families have pregnancies which are seriously traumatic, sometimes with unthinkable outcomes.  I’d like to clearly state that my intention is not to undermine, or belittle those experiences in this episode. It goes without saying that moaning about a bad back is nothing compared with the types of pain some people go through whilst bearing their children.  I hope not to offend anyone in the writing of this.

My pregnancy was massively influenced by the fact that, in the words of Original Twin-Dad, ‘there were two little bosters in there’.  There was not a lot of space. Which got me wondering how singleton pregnancies compare. Enter, convenient twin sister who has carried a single baby, twice.  This is where it all gets interesting. Because regardless of the difference in numbers, Original Twin-twin and I, did have really similar pregnancies. We both had quite big bumps (or ‘a comfortable bump for baby’ as my sister’s Dr delightfully referred to it). We both had back pain in exactly the same place.  We both swelled up considerably, we were both early going into labour. I remember my sister desperately forcing her limbs into yoga positions to find relief, something I later found myself doing (badly) in my own pregnancy.

It seems carrying one baby can be just as hard as two.  This called for further research; because I very definitely had a harder time than anyone else in the entire history of motherhood.  I asked a number of people to describe their pregnancy with one word. I’ve asked carriers and partners of multiples and singletons to get a range of opinions to work with:

We’ll start with the singletons:

‘Emotional’ - Lizzie, Mum to Maxim (9 months).

‘Bubble’ - Emma, Mum to Robbie (16), Jamie (14), Olivia (5) and Noah (4).

‘Daunting’ - Vic, Mum to Oscar (2) and Iris (6 months).

‘Proud’ - Andy, Dad to Finley (1).

‘Bumpy’ - Zoe, Mum to Abel (1)

And the multiples?

‘Uncomfortable’ - Rachel, Mum to Elias (5), Florrie (1) and Edie (1).

‘Empowered’ and ‘Grateful’ - Ellie and Riarna (respectively), Mums to Olly (1) and Theo (1).

‘Terrifying’ - Sam, Mum to Isabelle (1) and Charlotte (1)

‘Worrying’ - Original Twin-Dad to Nell (1) and Edith (1).

So, it seems impossible to generalise pregnancy. Just my budget research shows vast differences in experience.  These summaries do not point towards a more desirable pregnancy for singleton Mums, indeed the experience differs vastly from pregnancy to pregnancy.  However, the twin Mums who have had a singleton pregnancy too, did feel a difference. In Original Twin-Nanny’s case, that’s how she knew she was having twins.  Baby scans were nowhere near as frequent as they are now and so there was no medical confirmation that it was twins, but talking to her now she knew something was different.  It was only when she was admitted to hospital 6 weeks before we were born that she was officially told she was having twins. It seems unbelievable that actually happened. People still ask me whether I knew I was having two.  I thought for a long time it was a really moronic thing to say but after hearing Mum’s experience in more detail and appreciating the age bracket of the questioner, I now only feel sad that I can’t offer the exciting anecdote they’d hoped for.

When we first found out, the joy I felt was absolute. There was no anxiety about the fact at all, I was just so grateful I’d been given the chance to be twinning again. I never felt it was going to happen, given the odds, so when it did, the pride just spilled out of me. Our families reactions will stay with me forever.  There were tears, shouting, astonished little noises; it was excellent. If we had any concerns at all about the prospect, it was totally abolished when it came to telling my Mum and Dad. Their reaction was unabashed celebration; loud and embarrassing and jubilant. No “what are you going to do?” or “Get your sleep in now!” Just absolute happiness.  They would know.

So the future, twin-filled and exciting, lay ahead like the yellow brick road.  We were positive, we were energised, we were ready for the challenge of twins… we were not, however, ready for pregnancy.

Just so you have some grasp of the gargantua of my bump…at 8 weeks, on holiday in Florence, a security guard excused me from a metal detector because he could see I was pregnant - 8 weeks. After our first scan, none of my clothes fit.  From about 6 months I was in daily pain. Ignorable pain, but it was a grind. By 7 months I looked like I was full term. At 8 months my mobility was seriously compromised and I was ready to drop. Two weeks before I went into labour, my legs swelled easily, 3 times their normal size. I couldn’t bend so I had to use a giant, geriatric shoe-horn to get into my sports trainers (the only footwear now able to house my balloon feet). I spent the evenings with my feet in a giant tub of cold water because my skin was so stretch-sore that I couldn’t bear it.  All in all, the most uncomfortable and physically debilitated I’ve ever been. Uncomfortable enough so that I was in early labour for two days and didn’t realise.

On top of this, people felt that they had the right to comment on my bump.  Everyday I was met with a chorus of ‘Still growing!”, “Look at that bump!” or, a particular low point, just walking into a room and being met with laughter.  I was amazed at this. It really felt like my body was up for discussion. I do feel that a woman’s body is never truly her own; it’s society’s property, too. We’ve come a long way with equality but the female form is never off limits.  There is an ingrained assumption that comment can be passed, even if the commentator is a little ashamed of it. I naively assumed that carrying a baby (or two) somehow exempt me from judgement. A break from a lifelong commitment to playing the part of looking at least a little bit appealing, satisfying the physical norm of womanhood.  Instead, my body was probed, verbally and physically. My appearance was up for discussion again, this time expected to meet the physical norm of motherhood; a ‘tidy’ bump, or at least, glowing radiance.

I really struggled with that.  I wanted to get on with perfecting my elaborate arrangement of pillows and hot water bottle to alleviate my back pain, instead, I wasted precious energy deflecting unwanted assessments of my body, or feeling upset because of them.  I had friends who felt quite comfortable during pregnancy, who still felt they had to explain their ‘small’ bump. The “Woah it’s huge!” was replaced with “You can barely tell your pregnant!”. As a result of this, they felt that their adequacy as a Mother was being questioned somehow.

Pregnancy is a quite wonderful thing, whether you’re carrying one, two, or half a dozen.  Your body is growing another human being and nothing quite prepares you for the complexities of that.  However, it does take its toll. For me, it felt like a sacrifice. My body, my physical capability, my confidence, were all compromised for the health and happiness of my babies. I reflect now and think, well, it should be. That sacrifice was the first of many and they are sacrifices I am willing to make again and again.   Because beneath all of the hardship, I know there’s nothing more worthy. Growing life really shouldn’t be easy, should it?

[original-twin-blog]

Episode 2 - Twin Voodoo

There’s something I haven’t mentioned yet.  Beware, your head may well explode.  My twins were also identical twin girls, they were born on the same day and were delivered exactly 13 minutes apart, the same as my sister and I.

These similarities bring me onto a key theme - Twin Voodoo.  

Any parent of multiples will know all about the very frequent conversations we have with strangers (I will cover this topic in a later episode). A popular question I am asked during ‘twin-chat’ is “Do you feel the same things at the same time, even when you’re apart?”  a reasonable person may roughly translate this as “are you psychic?” The question flummoxes me.  If we think about this for a minute, the questioner is genuinely asking if magic exists.  I’m never sure what to do with it, I certainly don’t feel qualified enough to encourage or dispel such a fantastic theory.  Instead, I stick to my own experience.  

No, I have never felt physical pain when my sister has, unless we both received an ailment of some description, in exactly the same place.  I have never knowingly received or sent messages telepathically to my twin.  I do not sense when she has received some bad news.  So overall, my experience tells me that the answer to the psychic question is categorically; no.

There are however, some stories floating around which counter this. Such as the case of ‘The Silent Twins’, June and Jennifer Gibbons.  The pair grew up in a welsh town they moved to from their birth country - Barbados.  They were seriously bullied at school, leading to a withdrawal from society.  They stopped trying to communicate with outsiders, they would instead talk only to each other in what was understood to be their own language.  The girls were described as having some kind of unspoken hold on each other. Jennifer was seemingly more dominant; preventing June from speaking without any contact, physical or emotional.  The girls turned to petty crime, were caught and ended up at Broadmoor psychiatric hospital.  They continued to communicate solely with each other, but seemed to recognise the implications of their behaviour. There was talk of some kind of pact, that they couldn’t live ‘normal’ lives whilst they both lived and so one of them must sacrifice themselves for the other.  After sharing this with various therapists, Jennifer did in fact die under very strange circumstances.  The cause of death was never identified.  The case is seriously fascinating.

So it seems there is definitely something strange about twinship.  It is strange that my daughters were born on my birthday and the weird twin communication stories are captivating and I want it to mean something, I really do.  I can’t, however, explain it with the supernatural.  Any strange twin happenings can be put down to the fact that the individuals were likely raised in complete unison with each other.  The pair are therefore going to share a relationship where communication is not as tangible as it may be with others because they have learned to communicate in a more subtle, nonverbal way.   That was all that was required to get by, when they had a companion from birth who thought about things very similarly.

My sister and I buy the same gifts for mutual friends.  We have the exact same sense of humour.  Our memories are entwined; I cannot distinguish whether I am the protagonist or my sister in quite a few - I remember the events as if it were always me.  The magic of twinship is the relationship that is the result of sharing most of your childhood minutes with another person.  It’s the total unity I feel when I’m in my sister’s company.  It’s the absolute understanding which just makes existing that bit easier.  It’s the almost spiritual connection I feel towards her children.  It’s the giggles of my daughters when they first figured out they could play peekaboo with one another.  It’s the first time they gave each other a kiss.  

That’s the magic of twins.

[original-twin-blog]

Episode 1 - An introduction

I am a twin.  I am one of 12,000 twins born in the UK every year. Furthermore, I am a monozygotic (identical) twin.  This means my Ma and Pa played their respective parts in releasing a single egg (Zygote) and then fertilising it. They had been here with my Brother three years previously, simply going through the baby-making motions so far. Then an unexpected development. The fertilised egg split, lava-lamp style, into two...Pop.  Just like that my sister and I existed;  identical twins sharing the same genes.

Let me be clear;  I LOVE being a twin, most twins I know do. I love that people are fascinated by twinship and if I’m entirely honest, the attention that being a twin generates makes me feel nice. The mechanics of a twin relationship are complex: reassuring, claustrophobic, challenging and organic all at the same time.  What I share with my sister is something I’m very proud of and I     realise that I am very lucky.  Not just for being in the twin-club but also in that my sister is BRILLIANT.  That helps.

I might add that although my sister and I are close, we’ve never been too weird with it. Well, at least not live together, dress the same at 40 years old, weird.  We separated at university and moved out of our hometown to very different locations.  My sister in Cheltenham; myself in Norwich.  A safe, non-weird, 4 hours drive away.   

You might be wondering, based on this information, why I feel the need to write about this.  Well.  At the ripe old age of 31, something very peculiar happened.  My Husband and I became pregnant...with twins.  Now, this it turns out is pretty peculiar.  The chances of giving birth to identical twins is one in 250.  Identical twins are not hereditary and so there is no greater chance of having twins myself.  If you’re willing to do the maths, the chances of this event happening are pretty slim.  Overall, I feel like I may be in quite a privileged position with all of this twin experience.    

I do want to clarify that I’m in no way an expert.  I’m not a scientist or biologist; I certainly didn’t have any knowledge on the science, psychology and sociology of twins.  I knew nothing about parenting before I became one.  I’d go as far as to say I know less about it now.  I am absolutely not proclaiming that the things I have done or do are the right things… I just think it’s good and positive to share experience.  

I will also say here that I’m trying very hard not to play the twin card.  Child rearing is, at times, the absolute pits.  I achieved lows I didn’t know existed, and having two preemie-screamers contributed to that.  However, parents use every single ounce of energy they have to care for their children.  They work and work and try and try until they collapse at the end of the day, regardless of the number of children they care for.  Everyone is burning out, twins or no twins.  I just hope that comes across in my ramblings.  

Regardless of my not really knowing anything about anything, the romance of my position as twin and twin-rearer has captured my imagination since we realised we were having two.  I thought maybe, other people might be interested too.  

So, Original Twin is born.  Welcome to the Freak Show.