Cedric and Sarah's Story

By Kendra Davis

"It's twins!" the ultrasound technician exclaimed as she scanned my abdomen. My husband Hugh held my hand as tears streamed down my smiling face as we both watched two fluttering heartbeats in two gestational sacs. After eight years, our prayers had finally been answered.

We already had two wonderful sons, Geoffrey (then 11) and Cameron (then 8), but we knew we wanted more children. Our infertility was unexplained, and we were told that our only option left was to try IVF. We did and it worked--we were thrilled to be expecting twins.

At seventeen weeks gestation, I had a level II ultrasound done, and both babies were doing very well. Twin B was definitely a boy, but twin A didn't cooperate--I was hoping it was girl!

A week later, an unexpected gush of fluid sent me straight to my doctor's office. It was amniotic fluid, and my babies were in trouble. I was told that I could lose one or both of our babies. Once admitted to the hospital, an ultrasound showed both babies doing very well. Twin B's fluid was a little low so it was determined that it was his sac that was leaking. Hugh, who was working in Singapore, made arrangements to come home ASAP. There were no signs of infection, and an amnio revealed the sex of twin A--a girl. The next few days proved to be an emotional roller coaster ride. All we could do was wait-and pray. I knew that I needed a miracle to be able to bring both babies home.

After five days of being in the hospital, an ultrasound showed that twin B no longer had a heartbeat. Our little boy, Cedric, had died. It was a very difficult task to mourn for one lost baby while hoping the other one would survive. Hugh and I knew this task was one we had to endure.

I was discharged and would continue bed-rest at home. I was warned that if there were any signs of infection to go to the ER immediately, and my pregnancy would come to an end. I had two children at home who needed their mother. I would see the doctor in four days.

Those days were so hard without having routine ultrasounds done. I was so relieved every movement I felt the baby make. It was such a relief to see my baby waving to us on the ultrasound screen. For the first time, the doctor was very optimistic and thought that everything would be fine. I would see her again in a week. That night I crawled into bed with my back aching a little more than usual and went to sleep still thinking that everything was all right.

I awoke in the middle of the night and wondered for a few moments what had awakened me. I realized I was having contractions. I quickly got out of bed and was overcome by chills, so I jumped back in bed under the warm covers and woke Hugh up. The contractions were five minutes apart. A sinking feeling overcame both of us, and we knew that this pregnancy was going to end. We knew that nothing could be done to save our daughter.

Once we arrived at the hospital, the contractions were stronger. My temperature was elevated, and the worst-case scenario was happening-an infection. An ultrasound showed that our daughter was just fine for now, but we knew that her time was limited. Two hours later, our little boy's body slid out. Before we saw him, we were warned that he didn't look very good, but it didn't matter--his tiny body was perfect.

My temperature rose to a frightening 105 degrees F. A cooling pad that circulated ice water was put under me, and my body shook violently. I began passing large blood clots. The doctor checked me, and the membrane of the girl was prolapsed. No miracle was going to happen today. Our daughter was born intact in her placenta, and I asked if she was alive, knowing that if she was she wouldn't be for long. My nurse shook her head and said, "No."

My daughter that I had longed and prayed for was gone. A while later we held her. Just the day before we had been told the prognosis for my pregnancy looked good. We named her Sarah. I marveled at her perfect little body. Her head was bruised, but her hands, toes and everything were beautiful. She even looked like Geoffrey and Cameron when they were newborns.

My fever was relentless, and I continued to hemorrhage. A D&C was scheduled and the paperwork completed for a blood transfusion. That evening, we held our babies one more time before they were sent to the morgue, an experience that no parent should have to endure. December 21, 2002, was finally over, a very sad day that none of us will ever forget.

The following morning, we held our babies before they were sent to the mortuary. They were brought to us wrapped in warm blankets. I sat in the rocking chair and held my twins together for the first and last time. I held them close and cried as all of the tender moments I dreamed about for so many months disappeared. It broke my heart to see Hugh cry as he held our son and daughter.

I was discharged on Christmas Eve. I didn't know how I was going to get through Christmas, much less the next few days and weeks. As my nurse pushed my wheelchair to the lobby to wait for Hugh to bring the car, there was a family waiting there with a newborn ready to go home. Thank goodness my nurse just kept going outside where we would wait in the cold. Welcome to the real world, Kendra. Other people get to bring home babies, but all I was bringing home were unused ID bands, a few pictures, Sarah's footprints, and two blankets.

On December 27, we buried our twins together in a tiny casket. Prior to their burial, we went to the funeral home so Geoffrey and Cameron could each put a memento in the casket with them. I tucked the blanket around their little bodies before the casket was shut and sealed. The graveside service was very peaceful.

We learned that Sarah had a live birth certificate. Our little girl had lived for forty-seven minutes, and we didn't get to hold and see her during that time. Both Hugh and I felt robbed of those precious moments. At my six-week checkup, we reviewed my chart with my doctor. The doctor explained that keeping her from us was not intentional, and that she was never left alone. I asked what Sarah was like during her that time, and I was told that she moved her arms and legs and even took a few breaths, but most importantly that she didn't suffer. She died very peacefully.

The days and weeks that followed were very difficult. It is hard to put in words the sorrow and despair that consumed me. My world was shattered, and I had no idea how to put it back together. All I could do was cry, and at times I would feel like I was having a panic attack. Sleep seemed to be my only refuge, and with the help of a sleep-aid I could run away. I felt abandoned by everyone. I didn't know what normal was anymore, and I didn't know who I was anymore. For weeks I wouldn't go anywhere.

Hugh and I felt that we should try to get pregnant again, even though the thought of losing another baby was frightening. We knew that another child could not replace Cedric or Sarah. It seemed we were so close to getting what we had dreamed of for so long, and now we were so far away from that dream. So our quest began again with consultations with the perinatologist and the infertility specialist. We got the go-ahead to try IVF again when we were ready.

We never made it back to the IVF clinic. Two months later, during a spring blizzard while shoveling through seven feet of snow, I started feeling the kind of queasy fatigue that I had felt while I was pregnant. Both Hugh and I were very hesitant to even think that I might be pregnant, but we had to wait a few days before a bulldozer cleared our road before we could get out and buy a pregnancy test. Within minutes after returning home, I had the test results. I think I was in shock when I showed Hugh the positive test. We were pregnant again! Our emotions ran the gamut--we were thrilled that we were pregnant without medications, injections and specimen cups, but terrified that we could lose another baby.

Genevieve Hope was born on Nov. 4, 2003. To hear her cry was music to our ears. We also decided to adopt a baby girl from China. As soon as our dossier was sent to China, we found out we were pregnant again. We put the adoption on hold for six months. Gregory Jack was born on December 5, 2005. Fourteen-month-old Claire Xia Ju was placed in our arms on July 27, 2006, in Guangzhou, China.

Miracles really do happen. Genevieve, Gregory and Claire are the miracles that I prayed for so desperately when I knew the twins were in trouble. I think of Cedric and Sarah every day, and there are many nights that I fall asleep with a damp pillow. I miss them, and I always will. At first, I didn't know how I could go on without them, but with the passage of time it did get easier. Among our family portraits I have a framed cross stitch that simply states, "Families Are Forever." I believe with all of my heart that I will hold them again, and we will all be together.