GRAND Magazine - Spring 2024 - 14

from our readers
right dose of medicine to get her through those two hours.
It wasn't as simple for me; I felt as if I were on high alert,
scanning her every movement. With a fancy plate of luncheon
food in front of me, I sat and made idle chatter and
tried to ignore the rattling in my head. What was going on
here? How would this day end? My husband was due to
return to NY the next day, and I had planned on staying
until Tuesday. Now what? I forced another forkful into my
mouth. With coffee and cake still on the table, my daughter,
her husband, and mine left for the hospital.
It didn't take long for the doctors to diagnose preeclampsia
and admit her for observation. The Bell's palsy,
we learned, was not that uncommon in pregnancy, but
it certainly was complicating the circumstances now. My
Ultrasounds proved it so. A baby shower at the end of 30
weeks was a truly joyous event, a celebration of something
no one ever thought would or could be. Unfortunately, it was
ominously overshadowed by the onset of Bell's palsy the day
before. My daughter had woken up that Friday morning to
see one drooping eyelid in the mirror. By mid-afternoon, her
smile had turned upside down on the same side. My husband
is a physician and recognized the telltale signs immediately.
Phone calls and photos to her doctor confirmed his
suspicions. The obstetrician approved watchful waiting overnight
and advised going to the ER straight from the baby
shower.
With the bravest- and most crookedly beautiful- face I
have ever seen, my daughter held her head high and reveled
in every minute of that special occasion. The love and
support provided by family and friends provided just the
14 GRAND SPRING 2024
daughter was scared and uncomfortable. We were all anxious
but hopeful that her condition would stabilize with bed
rest and that she would be able to hold on to those babies,
allowing them to continue to grow safely in her womb for a
few more weeks.
That did not prove possible. After four days on hold, her
doctor walked into the room and announced, " It's time to
take the babies. " She had no choice, she explained, but to
induce labor.
In a reverse order of events, Twin B delivered first, naturally,
weighing in at 3 lbs. 6 oz. Twin A didn't make an
appearance until exactly six and a half hours later, forced
out by surgical intervention. He was a mere three ounces
bigger than his older sister. The cheer that typically follows a
newborn's cry was restrained, tempered by the crisis of the
moment. In a careful, smooth, swift sequence of motions,
the preemies were rushed to the NICU, where the nurses and
specialists on staff were gentle, compassionate, and competent
as they tended to the newborns in the " suite " that
was their home for the next six weeks. Though I was initially
"
And I have the privilege as their
grandmother to hold their hands
along the way.
"
overwhelmed by the mere concept of critical care for newborns,
I came to find the serious silence soothing. I felt hope
in the air, measured by ounces of intake and output, blood
values, digits readings on a scale- all numbers that now we
were happy to hear.
The first time I saw my daughter in her hospital bed after
the deliveries, tears came to my eyes. Our roles reversed
swiftly when she asked me, " Mom, are you okay? " I nodded
yes since I had no words to explain the fear, anxiety, and
relief I had been experiencing the last few days. My own support
system was only intermittently available; long-distance
conversations were limited, depending on the hospital's network
and area cell phone towers, and sometimes factoring in
the three-hour time difference was more than my tired brain
could process. I relied on my own strength and resilience,
meting out what I could to be present for my daughter.
Click to continue reading
Deborah Levin is a doting grandmother
of four who enjoys writing and sharing
stories about their young lives. Other essays
have been published in earlier editions
of GRAND.
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GRAND Magazine - Spring 2024

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