How I Had Twins

Three Years Ago:

Three years ago today my boys were born. It was such an incredibly frightening/exciting time. We had no idea what we were doing or what we were in for. We still don't. I don't think you ever really know. You just grin and bear, and enjoy the ride.

I am thankful every day for them. Even when it gets hard and frustrating, it's fun and rewarding in the same moment. Their big smiles and cute little voices break me down every time.

During a writing workshop over the summer we were asked to compose an original piece that we would work through in the role of the student. We brainstormed ideas for writing and this was all I could come up with.

This is the piece I wrote for the workshop. I would hate to let it be for nothing and this seems like an appropriate forum for presentation. And considering the day and subject matter, it seems fitting that I post it here.

It's for the internet to keep and preserve for all eternity. But really, it's for my boys on their birthday.

Happy Birthday Clay and Colt! This is how it went down.

Don't let anyone else tell you differently.


The Story:
_________________________________________________________________________________

How I Had Twins
(with my Wife's Help)
By Chris Cogswell

In 2011, Nelson Cruz missed a routine fly ball and the Rangers eventually lost the World Series, again.  I had stayed up late again only to be let down again. Crushed and emotionally drained, I sulked and retreated to sleep in the guest bedroom again.

My wife Ashley occupied our master bedroom. Pregnant with twins, she now began to monopolize our king-sized bed and snore loudly like a chainsaw with a microphone. So it was decided for the good of the whole that I be exiled to the guest bedroom.  Cozy and quiet, it was a perfect place for a disappointing night of sleep. I had to work in the morning, it was late, and the Rangers let me down again.

5 A.M.: the door burst open. The jarring force startled me awake. Images of the DEA or FBI raiding the home flooded my mind, but as my eyes adjusted to the twilight, I could see it was just my very pregnant wife. As her silhouette stood in the doorway, hands holding the round bulge of our unborn sons, I could just make out a pale face of concern.

“I think it’s time.”

We were a full month early. Even for a twin pregnancy this was early. Was there something wrong? Was this a false alarm? She had never had a false alarm before, so why would we have one now?

“Okay, then let’s go. Let me go put my pants on.”

We entered the hospital through the ER. Since we were ahead of schedule, neither of us had packed a delivery bag, made any plan of action, or knew what the hell we were doing. There was still a sense of denial, yet we knew. I recalled the words of R. Kelly, “My mind’s telling me no, but my body is telling me yes.” We were new at this and completely unprepared for it to be real; thankfully the nurses took charge. They placed Ashley into a wheelchair, zooming her through a labyrinth of clean white walls and doors with restricted access to the maternity ward on the other side of the hospital- an area that I had no idea existed. I walked alongside stroking her blonde hair, trying to comfort her, telling her and myself, “It’s going to be okay.”

Things escalated quickly. Within the hour her dilation and sonogram imaging assured the doctor that we should proceed with labor. This was no joke or false alarm. It was happening.

It really is go time.

I had one job: let everyone know what was going on, so I checked us in on Facebook. Eventually I called my parents and mother-in-law. My dad reached the hospital first. My mom phoned in since she was out of town, and my mother-in-law did her best to make it to the hospital as quickly as she could as she recovered from the effects of imported Mexican sleeping pills.

By 10 A.M., the room was full of extra eager family and friends. They laughed and sipped their Starbucks while waiting for the main event as Ashley watched amid contractions of varying pain. 

Soon the doctor came in to relieve the pain and what tension he could by injecting her with the second largest needle I had ever seen. He rushed our guests into the hall, I held my wife’s hand, and he stabbed her in the back. She immediately felt better.

T-minus one hour.

A second sonogram revealed that one of our boys was inverted. C-section was the best and less invasive option.  Too much could go wrong with a natural birth, so we prepped for surgery, and I finished my coffee.

The nurses loaded her up and whisked her into surgery. I was told to wait just outside. I would be summoned momentarily to begin my daddy duties. But the wait made me more nervous. Nervous made me need to pee, and sometimes pee won’t wait.

“Make sure they don’t start without me,” I said to a now startled and panicked nurse happening to walk by. I ran down the hall, located a restroom, and took a moment for myself.

I have never washed my hands so thoroughly.

Upon my return I found a toe tapping, fresh nurse standing impatiently waiting for me. “We’re ready for you now,” she said, leading me through the heavy doors and into the bright lights.

Inside the room nurses bustled about, their feet shuffling quickly to pre-determined purposes. A team of fifteen faceless scrubs moved as one like precision clockwork preparing for my boys to arrive. Ashley grasped for my hand. It was cold and she shook. The winter room made the hair on the back of my neck stand tall, but I knew she shook out of fear. It was real. We were here, and it was scary.

I held her hand tightly squeezing out my own nervous energy. She was drugged up, so I didn’t worry about hurting her.

“What’s going on?” she forced through the medicated haze.

I looked up and down at the doctor hidden behind the curtain. I watched as she pulled out my wife’s intestines and laid them on the table beside her. There are just some things you can’t un-see.

“Nothing,” I replied, “they’re just still cutting.”

Ashley breathed heavily and softly placed her head on the pile of pillows. With her comfortable, I again peered behind the curtain as Clay was brought into the world. He was naked, gooey, screaming, and perfect. Colt was inverted and harder to snag, but soon, like all children do, he finally gave in and joined us. He was perfect just like his big brother. The nurses and I counted their fingers and toes, and after double checking brought them to meet their mommy for the first time. Even through the pain killers, she was there enough to know and react. As the scrubs presented our sons like Simba to the pride, their crystal blue eyes met hers, and as they screamed, she smiled and cried.

Now together, and after our introductions, the team of scrubs hosed them down, cleared their bladders, and quickly brought them out of the room. The doctor began the cleanup process and placed my wife’s insides, back inside. They escorted me out of the room as well, allowing me to say my “I love you’s” and “goodbyes” and brought me back to Ashley’s hospital room.

There I met our extra excited, coffee drinking family and friends. The room turned, hushed, and shivered with anticipation. Trying to hold on to the moment and my tears, I greeted them with all I could muster, “They’re here. They look so beautiful.”

The room erupted with emotion. Joy and tears filled the tiny space. Congratulations everyone, we did it! Then amid the hugs and the handshakes, we heard a faint knock on the door. A nurse entered, wheeling in my sons, together.

“Your wife should be in shortly. I’m going to ask the rest of you to step outside for a moment and give them all a minute.”

Our extended support system slipped into the hallway leaving me with reality. I was a daddy. These little boys in pink and blue woven beanies, sleeping together in this giant Tupperware container were mine. These are my sons.

Another knock at the door and Ashley was brought in.  Minutes after having major surgery, we shared our first moments as a family.

They were perfect; they were healthy; twins, born a month early never spent a minute in the NICU. They were both roughly 6 pounds and 19 inches. They were not premature and they were not early. They were just ready to go now.

As we held our sons for the first time, I knew that this moment was different. These memories are more than pictures on a nightstand. They are something special: a 5 A.M. wake up call, Mexican sleeping pills, intestines on a table, my first moments as a daddy, and Nelson Cruz and that damn fly ball.

_________________________________________

Happy Birthday Clay and Colt!

I Love You!!!