I remember being told I was pregnant with Esther and William. I was sat with David in a coffee shop, waiting for the results of a blood test to see what my HCG levels would be. Anything above 90 was good and my number was 317 by the next day it had risen to 493. The clinic were certain we must be having twins, at least!

At the six week scan we saw two little blobs that would grow to be our children and we saw two tiny heartbeats flickering on the screen.

The clinic told us that at this point we should not tell anyone that we were carrying twins as very often by 12 weeks only one baby would remain.

Every week we were scanned and every week I waited for bad news but it did not come and finally we reached 12 weeks and we were allowed to proudly tell the world that we were expecting twins.

We thought the worst was over.

We thought we would now just have to wait impatiently for 25 weeks until we could meet our babies.

13 weeks after our 12 week scan I knew that something was not right.

In less than an hour I went from being mildly uncomfortable to suffering with agonising pain. The pain was constant. It did not really feel like it could be contractions but then what did I know? I was terrified. We decided after some deliberation to drive to the hospital which was just 10 minutes from our house.

Driving to the hospital I was crying, screaming and writhing in agony and there was one thought only on mine and David’s mine, one question we wanted answering, were we losing our babies? The babies we had tried so long and hard to conceive through 5 cycles of ICSI. Had we come so far to lose them before they were even born?

The first test carried out by the doctors and consultants in the delivery suite told them that the pain I was experiencing was nothing to do with our babies. The maternity staff relaxed a little as they injected me with steroids for the babies’ lungs – just in case.

We saw a lot of physicians and nurses that night. Everyone was sorry for us, worried for us; no one could tell us what was wrong.

Doctors were coming and going, more blood, more tests, more pain relief, more tubes down my throat and every half an hour a listen to the babies who were still going strong.

Again and again as possibilities were discussed and options considered the staff reminded us that the most important thing was keeping me alive to give the babies any chance of survival. I had already decided and announced to the room that I would rather die than lose the babies. I wanted them to be saved over me.

I cannot begin to imagine what it must have been like for David. Watching me in so much pain. Wondering if he might have to choose between his unborn children and me.

It was Monday before they operated; until then no one knew if I would live or die, it was that serious. No one knew if I would be able to hang on to the babies. There were no answers and my wonderful fiance must have had so many questions.

On Monday it looked certain that I would need surgery but I was more stable and people seemed to be positive that it was nothing serious and we were all probably going to be fine. Then I had a blood test that showed my white blood cell count was rocketing. This was a sure sign of an infection somewhere inside. The surgeon told me that he was no longer willing to wait. Everything could have been so much worse without the quick thinking and excellent skills of this surgeon. I still clearly remember when he came to see me in recovery on ITU all the other doctors and nurses applauded him for having operated on me successfully without harming our unborn children.

David remembers me on ITU being happy to be alive and happy that the babies were alive. I was on oxygen and a morphine drip. I had all the wires and machines connected to me that in 2 weeks time our tiny premature babies would have attached to them. I always cry when I listen to Athlete’s song Wires because of the babies, David finds it hard to listen to because it reminds him not only of the babies but of me in the days after my operation.

I was in a lot of pain but I refused to use the morphine all of the time because I was so scared of drugging the babies.

My total hospital stay was 10 days. I could not eat and there was talk of me having a long line so that they could feed me intravenously and get vital fluids and medications into me that way. Soon I would be all too familiar with long lines as the babies endured their stay on NICU.

When I was finally able to go home, I was still very swollen and sore. I knew I would need more recovery time at home but everyone seemed confident that they would not see me again before my due date in October. But sadly that was not to be. The babies had obviously had enough, been disturbed too much and they could no longer stay inside. Just a few days later when I was 27+3 Esther and William were born.

24th July 2010.

Weighing 2lb 4 and 2lb 11, first Esther and then William were born.

David and I had already been through so much that the realisation of how early are babies were was not as terrifying as it could have been. We had already all survived so much already this just seemed like the next step on our journey. Another obstacle that together we would overcome.

I don’t remember much about seeing the babies for the first time. I remember feeling anxious and scared. Anne and Penny were caring for the twins. After they had told us a bit about them and about the incubators and monitors and machines we brought my parents to meet them. The babies. Our babies!

After that Mary and Tony arrived on the ward while my parents were off getting David and I tea and bacon sandwiches, and a Twix. I remember feeling starving!

I also remember my heart breaking as I sat on the ward and realised I was the only mother there without her babies. The reality hit me then I think.

The babies had come, too soon, too small and I could not hold them, feed them or take them home. I cried and cried as the enormity and severity of what had happened and was happening hit home.

I felt so many emotions that day – fear, pride, frustration, uncertainty, anxiety, love, sadness, happiness, loneliness and determination.

It was the very beginning of the rollercoaster ride we are still on.

Some days are amazing, some days are unbearable, some days unforgettable, some days unbelievable.

Prematurity is permanent and affects the whole family not just the child.

For all my life I live with the guilt that I did not carry my children to term.

For the rest of their lives they, and we, live with the battles and complications that brings.

Prematurity does not go away.

November 17th is World Prematurity Day 2013 when we focus everyone’s attention on the global problem of premature birth. Join us please in raising awareness of what prematurity means for the babies and families it affects.

You can read my full account of my pre birth trauma here and my premature birth story here.