And suddenly, life changed overnight

In a matter of minutes, my path was written out for me. From one scan, to a second and then another, just to be sure, I was sent from Medway Hospital, to Darent Valley, where the door closed behind me and the clang of surgical instruments suddenly sent an utter shiver down my spine. This was it, for seven years, it had just been Harry and I. 1000, raves later 10,000 drunken arguments, 1 boozy party flat lived in, 13 countries explored, 2 years of us shacked up with the in-laws, one intense lockdown and our first family home purchased, suddenly none of that really mattered anymore, suddenly we were facing the imminent arrival of two little humans and there was simply no going back. 

Life for the best part of this year, for most, has been like being engulfed by a ‘big black hole,’ for Harry and I, we have been largely fortunate. We bought our dream house in the height of lockdown and conceived, quite quietly, whilst living with one’s in-laws, identical twins. We both managed to work throughout the evil spell of Covid and luckily, in two years, had saved a dreamy deposit, for our dreamy house. And by the power of mother nature, eight months have passed and from sperm and egg, to embryo, to foetus, to two nearly, not quite, perfectly formed little humans, were about to enter this crazy but very beautiful world.

Whilst laying on an operating table, with an overwhelming amount of people, dressed in white cloaks, looking down at me, Mariah Carey serenading us all with ‘All I want for Christmas is you,’ I wondered, ‘what the f*ck have I done? A planned C-section was not what I had in mind when I thought about having a baby. I for one, had always planned and hoped for a natural birth, the thought of being numbed from the waist done and having a baby extracted and dangled above me, much like Rafiki did when showing Simba to the rest of the animal kingdom, was a little unnerving, sick and just completely unethical. Why, oh, why, do women opt for a c-section, I just don’t get it?  

The anaesthetist team were brilliant, reassuring me, making small talk where possible and it light of a very unnerving situation, you can’t beat a bit of small talk. Once all was prepped, I then awaited the start of the surgical procedure. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for, a pull and a tug, nothing at all? Or was it to be more like a scene from a horror film, me, butchered by a serial killer and his team of merry men and women. The first 30secs were much of a blur, but mostly I remember excruciating pain, pain that when some one asks you, ‘on a scale of 1-10, how painful is it,’ I would have screamed, ‘one f*cking hundred!!!!!!  It was clear then that the anasetic had not worked and a continuous flinch of my leg, confirmed that. Game over, the consultant stood alongside me whilst the sweat poured from my brow, ‘I’m afraid Miss Cherry we will need to put you to sleep,’ I cried and cried some more, pleading we could continue, but the sensation of a pack of rats rummaging into my lower stomach, was too unbearable to bare. It was a reluctant farewell to Harry and off to the land of nod it was for me. When I woke, delirium had set in and it took me a while to register that of course, it was now Harry and I plus two. And then harry, glanced over, smiled and gave the grand news, that of course we had bought two little boys into the world.  

In that second, I awaited the feeling of euphoria, this overwhelming surge of endorphins and love that so many women talk of, it never came. Mostly women describe of this out of body experience when they are actually cradling their babies. My babies however, were nowhere to be seen, the aftermath of the anaesethic, was way too powerful to be able to comprehend anything else. And now, I was just a delirious woman, laying in her gown, staring at her boyfriend and trying to put the pieces of the puzzle back together. Where were my boys? Were they safe and well? What actually happened? What is this incredible burning in my lower stomach? Do my parents know I’m okay? In the midst of all this, I had the overwhelming urge to sleep, my eyes rolling in their sockets and the rotation of nurses that came in, was just enough to keep me coherent.  

I was filled with dread, a black cloud seemed to shift its course and cast its darkening shadow over me. This was my worst nightmare; history was repeating itself. My mum had had a C-section when delivering my sister, she too and in them days it was procedure, was completely put to sleep. She largely blames her spout of post-natal depression on the fact that she didn’t see my sister enter into this world and that when she woke, my dad was holding her, not her. I am my mother’s daughter and whilst my sister is more like my dad, emotionally charged and not a cold bone in her body, I am more like my mother, a little colder and honestly, not at all maternal! I wriggled with discomfort, all I could think about was sleeping and little about the two little humans I had just bought into this world. I longed for my back at home, swaddled in my toasty duvet, what’s more, is I longed for the life I had before I fell into this unforgiving deep sleep.  

Fast forward six hours, a little food, some more pain killers and plenty of napping and I was beginning to feel a little more human again. The lengthy gap from delivering my two little boys, to still awaiting a meet and greet with them, was becoming vast. How much longer must a mother wait to see her children? Was I even go to connect with them? Would I love them? Are they sure they are my boys? How can I be sure? In a sudden whirlwind of emotion, Harry took charge and demanded at the desk that I was to see the boys, as a matter of urgency. It wasn’t long then, until I was carted out of the ward, in my bed, down the corridor and into Walnut Ward, where our two little fellows awaited us.  

It was instant, love, overwhelming love. I knew, as much as I could, by propping my head up just a little from my bed, without tearing my abdominals back open, that they were ours. And despite the many cables, wires and incubator cage, you could quite clearly see two Cherry nose’s and four, beady Ringo eyes. It wasn’t difficult to name them, we had been pondering over names for some time now, but seeing as I was so adamant they were boys from the get go and of course, I was right, we had plenty of material to work from. Albi was our first choice, Henry was our second and they both stuck straight away. Henry the smaller of the two, won his royal name over his brother, because after all, you only have to look at him to know he is a king. Albie, slightly larger than his brother and the older of the two, won his name because of his chilled persona and charming good looks. Albie, still of course royalty had already won our hearts as our very own Prince Charming.

And there it was, parenthood staring right back at me in the form of two beautiful, perfectly formed little boys. Life had slipped into another realm, far different from the realm before. Suddenly all the yearning to travel again, was pocketed somewhere else, it was simply irrelevant now. Life had set a new task, a new adventure and that was to cherish our two little boys, keep them happy, well and content, what wasn’t so certain, is how we were going to do that. I don’t remember anyone handing me the manual on ‘how to keep twin boys alive? Life had just served me a super-size measure of ‘the great unknown,’ and it didn’t get much scarier than this. Here was to our next adventure, farewell backpack, hello sleepless nights, saggy boobs and absent sex life, it’s going to be fun!