Haven't I gone through enough?

The day after I was released from the hospital, I found myself struggling. Not because I missed the twins, although that played a big part, but because I couldn't breathe. With all of the issues I'd had, before and after delivery, I was unable to pump my breast milk for the twins. My breasts were extremely enlarged, and at this point, hard as rocks.

I actually tried to pump the day after I delivered, but I had zero energy and my body was still trying to get back to a normal level of functioning. I pumped for a good half hour on each side and got no more than a drop. As frustrated as I was, I had no fight left in me to continue to try. It was something I was going to have to let go.

So I was stuck with breasts that felt like boulders until my body realized I wasn't going to nurse. As if I hadn't had enough pain and suffering, this was just another thing to add to the list.

All day, I tried to lay down to take a nap. I was exhausted and knew that sleep was going to be the best thing to get me back to normal. Every time I tried to lay down, however, I felt like I was gasping for air and it felt as though someone was sitting on my chest making it impossible for me to breathe. That person being what I thought were my giant boobs. So, I tried to sleep sitting up.

After a few minutes of that, I realized my mid-day nap was just not going to happen. I focused on other things and tried to visit with family who had stopped by to check on me.

That night is when I realized something more than enlarged breasts was going on. After my mom had gone to sleep, and Peyton was fast asleep too, I was still struggling. I called the nurse after-hours line and waited to speak to someone. As I was on hold, I kept hoping they would tell me that I just needed to take a hot shower, ibuprofen and that would help. Boy was I wrong.

As soon as I described my symptoms, I was told I needed to go to the emergency room right away to be seen. Not only that, but I needed to go back to where I delivered the twins. That was an hour away.

I woke my mom, who in hopes of a good night's sleep had taken her heavy dose of sleeping pills, and told her we needed to go back to the hospital. I called our babysitter and dropped Peyton off, and realized my mom was in no condition to drive.

I was going to have to drive, an hour away, to the hospital in the awesome condition I was in, while my mom slept in the passenger seat.

That drive was the worst drive I've ever made in my life. Thankfully, it was past midnight and the traffic on the road was basically non-existent. That's the only good thing.

I was weeping by the time I arrived at the emergency room entrance, having just driven an hour in horrendous pain. I didn't want to be back at the hospital, I didn't want to be in pain, and the last person I wanted to see was another nurse with needles and IV equipment.

I checked in and was immediately put in a wheelchair. Apparently they could tell I needed to be there. I was wheeled to a room right away and hooked up to monitors and given warm blankets to "get comfortable." Ha! As if that were remotely possible. Were they not listening when I said I couldn't lay down?

Eventually, a doctor came in and said they wanted to run tests and get an image of my lungs via MRI.
I don't know if you've ever gotten an MRI, or watched House, M.D. Or Grey's Anatomy enough to know what it consists of, but they wanted me to LAY DOWN on this awesomely small "bed" and slide me into a tube for imaging. Lucky for them, I didn't want to make an ass out of myself, but I seriously considered the fact that every person in the hospital that day was an idiot and I was tempted to tell them. How did they expect me to lay flat for longer than 2 seconds when I couldn't breathe when I did that? That was the exact reason I was back here in this awful place to begin with.

I tried, however, to please them, and laid down. For probably a total of 2 seconds before I freaked out and gasped for air. Now they could understand what I meant! Their solution? Let's drug her! So, within minutes I was given a shot of Ativan to calm me down in hopes I could get through the test. It worked, but also caused me to be completely out of it for the rest of the night and well into the next day.

I was admitted due to the fluid they found in my lungs, which explained the inability to breathe when I laid down. Fluid in my lungs I could deal with, because that was easily remedied.

That was until probably the only smart person in that place decided that in addition to the MRI, someone should take a look at my heart to see how it was holding up. Good call, doc.

The only thing I remember from the doctor explaining to me what was wrong with my heart were five words, "You can't get pregnant again."

Where am I now?

Sitting outside in the sun and holding my iPad, I realize that it's been almost 2 years since the twins were born and almost as long since I have written anything on here.

Where am I now? Where are the twins? How have I coped with the whole surrogacy?

I realize, also, that there are parts of my story I never got around to writing about. Or maybe I intentionally left those parts out for fear of having to face them head on. It is more likely the latter.

So here I am. Willing to finish my story, and in need of an outlet for the emotions I still carry even after all this time. Will I be able to write it all today? Not likely. But where I'll start will have you wanting to keep reading. And it will give me a reason to keep writing.

If you have read along up until now, you know that I gave birth to the twins on July 24, 2012. Wow. Just typing that date makes it seem like it was an eternity ago. The story didn't end there. In fact, it was only another beginning.

Due to my high blood pressure and need for a blood transfusion prior to delivery, I was kept in the hospital for a few days for monitoring. I was finally able to go home that Friday afternoon.

Leaving the hospital was harder than anything I'd done up to this point. The nurse sent my mom downstairs to pull the car up to the main entrance of the hospital and she would wheel me down to meet her. I was beyond excited to leave the hospital as I had been there far too long, I missed my own bed,and most of all I missed my little boy. This whole journey had taken away a lot of time for the two of us.

As the nurse was wheeling me out of my room, the flood of emotions came and it came so quickly I could barely handle it. I was trying, but failing miserably, at keeping the tears at bay. But the nurse, God love her, was only making it worse. She knew I had been a surrogate, and was asking a million and one questions about how I was feeling. I wanted to tell her to shut up, as now was not the appropriate time for these questions, but I didn't have it in me.

By the time we were to the ground floor and heading towards the doors, I had no more fight in me. My face was soaked from the tears, and I couldn't bring myself to respond to anymore of her questions. I just wanted to go back upstairs, where the twins still were, and cuddle them. I wanted them to be with me as I was leaving. The normal way things worked. I came to this hospital carrying two babies inside of me, and I was leaving empty handed. It didn't feel right.

The drive home was even more difficult. My mom drove, of course, and I sat in the passenger seat sobbing. The sobbing would stop for a few minutes, I'd gain some control, and then it would start all over again. My poor mom, driving and unable to console me, I'm sure she was crying as well. But I couldn't look at her, I could barely stand the glimpse of myself I'd catch in the side mirror as I was staring out the window.

The normally hour long drive home felt like it took an eternity. All I wanted to do was sleep. I didn't want to think, or feel; I just wanted to go home, crawl in my bed and wake up many hours later.

When I got home, it was like walking into a place I hadn't been in years. It felt like so long since I had been somewhere that didn't have the brightest white walls and alarms going off through all hours of the night. My apartment was a disaster, as I hadn't been in any shape to clean or do laundry for nearly my entire pregnancy. Thank goodness for my mom, because she would soon remedy that.

I don't remember much of that night, aside from the hours I spent sleeping. Or the time between my slumbers where I cried. Sobbed. And I remember my mom checking on me often.

I finally mustered up the energy for a shower. Thank God for the bench seats in my master bathroom because I wouldn't have lasted long standing. It was the best feeling in the world. Sitting in the shower, hotter than it probably should have been, and washing away all of the smells of the hospital. All of the uncomfortable gowns, the horribly thin sheets and uncomfortable pillows. All of it down the drain. I just wished I could wash away the pain and feeling off loss I couldn't shake.

Tomorrow I was to face the world again. My sisters were to come visit and get me back into a normal swing of things. Distract me from what I had just gone through. What happened the next day, though, no one could have expected.