Almost four years have passed since that moment, yet it feels as vivid as if it were yesterday. I found myself in a dimly lit room, reclining as the technician applied the warm gel to my abdomen. I winced at the sensation, a feeling I have never enjoyed. Leaning in closer, I whispered, “Is there any chance you have that gel at a cooler temperature?”
“What? Most people prefer it warm,” she replied, puzzled.
“Blech! Not me. It feels utterly gross,” I responded, trying to lighten the mood.
“Okay, let’s get started,” she said, and I readied myself for the exam that would change everything.
As the technician maneuvered the wand across my belly, sound waves captured the images within. She took measurements, and I could hear her thoughtful “hmms.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Is this your first sonogram?” she inquired.
“No, I had a few with my first child,” I replied, blissfully unaware of the underlying concern in her tone.
“Um, I mean, is this your first one for this pregnancy? Do you know anything yet?”
“Oh, right! First one for this baby. We don’t know much, just that I’m pregnant, right? Ha!” I chuckled, oblivious to the gravity of the situation.
“Okay, let’s see what we have here,” she said. “There’s the baby! That’s the head, the arm, the legs.” I pointed at the monitor, my husband, Mark, squinting beside me to catch a glimpse.
“Now, what do you see here?” she asked, shifting the wand to a different angle.
“Uh, the baby turned?” I guessed, noticing a profile change.
“Nooooo.”
There was a long pause—an almost surreal silence.
“Two babies.”
“What?” I exclaimed, instantly sitting upright, my eyes wide with disbelief.
“I’m just the messenger,” she responded, raising her hands defensively.
“WHAT?” I repeated, struggling to comprehend her words.
“Two babies.”
“HOW? WHAT?” I stammered, my mind racing.
She gently nudged me back down, explaining the situation as she pointed out two umbilical cords, two placentas, and two amniotic sacs. Clear as day were four arms, four legs, and two heads.
Shock coursed through me, and fear gripped my thoughts. My intention was to provide my daughter with a sibling—not two! I had never envisioned having three children. Three felt odd; we wouldn’t fit comfortably at the dinner table. My family would now be five? I recalled the show “Party of Five,” which I had watched as a teen, where the parents died.
“How will I manage two screaming infants simultaneously?” I thought, my mind spiraling. I could barely handle one baby before—how could I possibly manage two?
The technician explained that the twins were fraternal, and my age played a role in this unexpected outcome.
“Two eggs,” she clarified.
“So, this is my fault,” I replied, feeling overwhelmed.
“What? There’s no fault here. Just two babies,” she assured me.
“But how? There are no twins in either of our families,” I gestured toward Mark, still in shock behind me.
She glanced at the monitor. “You’re 35. As women age, their bodies can release more viable eggs.”
“Like rats off a sinking ship?” I joked weakly.
“Um, yes, you could say that,” she replied, with a hint of laughter.
Finally, I managed to complete the exam, where they measured the necessary components for women over 35 expecting. As I walked out, still in disbelief, I called my sister, exclaiming, “You won’t believe what just happened!”
Four years later, and I still find it hard to wrap my head around that day. For further insights into pregnancy and home insemination, you may find this resource helpful: American Society for Reproductive Medicine.
Leave a Reply