Chapter 24
My eyes began to slowly drift closed before my alarm began to go off. I jolted upright and reached over to grab my breast pump bag. I sighed, feeling more like a cow, but understood it was a necessity. My limbs felt heavy with exhaustion, but I needed to get this done before I took a nap.
Troy paused from extricating Addison, our daughter from her incubator. “Do you need help?”
The men hadn’t left my side accept for brief stints here and there since the birth of our children.
Jace, Troy, Remy, Drake, and Jaxson had elected to stay by my side this afternoon.
Noah and Lincoln had to leave for a little while to attend to business.
Even though Noah was off on paternity leave, there were pressing matters he had to quickly attend to.
Lincoln was in the other room on a video conference call with his agent.
“I’m okay.” I yawned. “Thanks.”
“You need to take a nap when you can,” Jace gently chided me before climbing into the bed beside me.
Truthfully, I was beyond exhausted and I really should get some sleep, but it eluded me. Every time I closed my eyes I was having flashbacks of my horrific labor. It had been nearly two weeks, yet my anxiety hadn’t lessened.
Once my anxiety began it spiraled, shining a light onto all my insecurities.
It then caused me to worry how much longer my babies needed their incubators.
I was terrified Horatio would find a way to get to them.
I worried about everything and anything.
In addition to all the breast-feeding challenges I was experiencing.
Addison was able to latch but grew tired after a few minutes of nursing.
Andy on the other hand was too weak to even breastfeed yet, so we had to bottle feed him.
I felt like a failure even though, logically I knew it was no fault of my own.
The only silver lining in all this crappy mess was that I was producing a decent amount of milk, but I knew it would take a lot of dedication on my part to ensure I continued to produce the proper amount to hopefully continue boosting my supply.
“I need to pump more milk. Dr. Branch said nursing newborns typically eat every two hours. I need to make sure they have enough milk, so we don’t have to supplement.”
“There’s no shame in supplementing if you have to.” Drake hummed before adjusting the blanket on our nearly naked son.
He was doing kangaroo care on Andy, while Troy was doing the same with Addison. Seeing the way, they were with our children was the only thing that comforted me. It seemed to be the only light shining through the darkness of my apprehension.
They said a true test to relationship enduringness was based on how you got through adversities. At this point I believed each test had made us stronger coming out of it. The way my men stepped up once again and became the fathers I always knew they would be was just another bonus.
We were fortunate enough to bring both of our babies’ “home” with us.
With Noah’s training and with Dr. Branch stopping by a couple of times a day I was able to recover in the comfort of our apartment.
I had been struggling in the hospital setting.
It had been too loud and busy. I knew most of the staff meant well but I felt like a few of the nurses came into our room, just to come into our room.
Even with being new fathers, my men were still getting hit on and I couldn’t handle it in my vulnerable position.
“We have a freezer and refrigerator that says you have enough milk for a while.” Jaxson reassured me as he restocked their changing tables.
Miranda and Megan had really come through for us while I was still in the hospital.
They had gone out to purchase several of the items we hadn’t gotten or knew we even needed—like preemie clothing.
They had then washed every item or sanitized it, taking that responsibility off our plates.
They also made sure our refrigerator, and an additional chest freezer was stocked with enough food so we rarely if ever had to venture from the apartment.
I felt the ever-present tears pushing at the back of my eyelids.
Logically, I knew I was suffering from Post Partum Depression and Post Partum Anxiety.
I knew the events of the last few weeks had hit me hard and was making me think and act irrationally, yet I seemed unable to stop myself from doing it.
My hormones were all over the place and I hated it!
With these thoughts prevalent in my mind, I placed my pumps on my breast. The humming sound filled the air while Remy jumped up and went to the new mini fridge Pops had put in our room.
He pulled out an electrolyte drink. Then grabbed a lactation bar Miranda and Hazel made to help me with my milk supply.
“I much rather be safe than sorry,” I pushed my hair back in agitation. My hand paused as I held up the lank trendle. Then I frowned. I couldn’t remember the last time I had taken a shower.
Don’t get me wrong, the guys had been attempting to cajole me into taking a shower, but I had been resistant.
I lived in a constant state of paranoia.
I was afraid if I left the twins for too long something might happen to them.
Despite the fact that I knew they were improving every day, I was afraid that something catastrophic could happen.
Of course, it didn’t help that two of the young mothers we had rescued had lost their babies.
One was a still birth and the other was under investigation because Rachel had detected lies in the retelling of how her baby had died in the middle of the night.
They had initially ruled it as SIDs, but it wasn’t until Rachel so happened to be down in one of the common areas.
She heard the women’s friends comforting her.
She was telling them how she discovered her daughter not breathing in her bassinet.
Rachel detected the lie and informed Pops. She was now under investigation.
It was stories like that didn’t help my unease and fears.
Whether it was through circumstances they were unable to control or not.
In my head there were two babies that gained their wings a lot sooner than they should have.
I realized with Noah and I as healers our children were far more protected than others, but it still didn’t comfort me in the least.
Remy handed me my drink and my snack. “Are you ready for a shower?”
I nervously looked over at the twins then toward the bathroom door. I felt disgusting and I really did need to take a shower. I stubbornly wanted to refuse but I knew I was being ridiculous.
I turned off the machine and unlatched the bottles attached to my breast. I examined the bottles, happy that I had three ounces in one and two in the other.
The new lactation consultant—a woman I refused to talk to after the first time I met her—informed me that it was plenty for both of the babies at this stage.
Even with my constant worrying and lack of sleep at least I was doing one thing right.
The bottles were on the nightstand for less than two seconds before Remy was picking them up.
They had a system to ensure my milk was getting properly rotated by the time of day and when I pumped it.
It was just another thing I was along for the ride with.
I lowered my top and leaned back in the bed watching nearly all of them doing something for the babies, but me.
Out of nowhere I began to sob. I felt like I was in over my head even with being surrounded by my men.
I didn’t need to lift a finger. I couldn’t move around the apartment without one of them keeping me company.
Every time the babies made a peep, I was barely able to acknowledge it before one of my guys addressed their needs. I haven’t even changed a diaper yet.
I know. I know, first world problems. I knew thousands and thousands of women out there would kill to be in the situation I was in, but I almost felt useless.
The only thing I could seem to do right was produce milk and even then I had my men telling me I could stop and we could switch to formula if it was too much.
“What’s wrong?” Lincoln worriedly asked, coming into the room followed by Hazel, Megan, and Miranda.
I was unable to answer them. I knew how bizarre my words would be if I uttered them aloud. How can I tell them I felt inadequate? How can I admit that I felt like everything that I had imagined had been ripped away from me? My labor and my post-partum experience wasn’t anything like I had desired.
My children had been violently ripped from my body.
I had imagined going into labor naturally and deciding in the midst of it whether I wanted to have an epidural.
Instead, my biological father had sent his minions to attack me causing me to go into labor.
I had felt every last contraction and pain from birth with no prepping for it.
I nearly lost my son. I had to heal him despite my body being ravaged.
I hemorrhaged, causing me to need a transfusion.
I required stitching down there despite my babies being less than four pounds. Nothing had gone how I had imagined.
Then the constant hovering of the nurses and their unnecessary visits—with some of them completely ignoring me—made me feel inadequate.
Some of the nurses had been pandering to my men as if they had just experienced a traumatic birth.
Even after they put them in their places, some of them behaved as if they catered to them and fawned all over them, they could get there in with them.
Most of them were attractive if not gorgeous, making me feel all the more conscious of how I had felt and appeared.