Violet Grace Lucille is still recovering from her operations in Liverpool but her surgeon and doctors have decided that if she continues to progress so remarkably well, she'll be able to go back to be with her sister in Lancaster next week.



She was due to start feeding again today through a tube but the doctors have decided to wait one more day. It's very important that she's is reintroduced to mummy's milk very slowly, starting with half a millilitre; there's a possibility that she could have further problems and may develop 'NEC' again. Let's hope she continues as brilliantly as she has been doing.



Since she was diagnosed and throughout her operations and initial recovery, Violet has been ventilated. She is now breathing for herself again.



She is also no longer being given morphine and caffeine. She's been quite angry about this today - who could blame her?- and its also very probable that she's feeling very hungry indeed. She does entertain a dummy but it doesn't take her long to suss out the lack of milk.



This evening, Violet was moved from Nursery 7 to Nursery 5, signaling that the doctors are confident that she's not likely to need ventilation again, and therefore she's no longer an 'intensive care' patient. A promotion indeed.

Ivy had a bath

After a long week, I was finally reunited with my youngest (and biggest) baby. Whilst Violet enjoys her holiday in Liverpool, Ivy has been keeping an eye on the nurses in Lancaster. She's pretty much feeding on demand, and it really shows (she's (almost) an immense 4 pounds now!).

It was wonderful to see her again, and - despite my sudden lack of beard - she recognised me, or at least politely pretended to as one does with that familiar yet nameless face that stops to chat in the street...

Anyway, Ailsa, who had been with Ivy since Tuesday evening, was similarly enjoying a brief reunion with little Violet, who was delighted to have cuddles with mummy once again.

Whilst I was with Ivy, it was my privilege not only to bottle feed her mummy's defrosted milk twice, but also to witness/help with Ivy's first bath. Well, she was crying and fidgety (due for a feed), but as soon as she was lowered into and held in the little bath, she stopped crying, shut her eyes and totally chilled; I've never seen such a relaxed baby...

Update

To see Violet's progress click here or copy and paste https://www.babylink.info/Liverpool/BD_External/Diary/LogIn.aspx?ReturnUrl=%2fliverpool%2fBD_External%2fDiary%2fviewDiary.aspx into your browser and type in:

Username: VIOLET (case sensitive)
Password: 3891

A scary week

I've no time to elaborate or explain but basically we've just had the worst and best week of our lives so far:

Violet was transferred to the Women's Hospital, Liverpool and then to Alder Hey Intensive Care where she had two operations to examine and eventually remove part of her bowel. She was very, very poorly this time last week and there was a very real risk of her not recovering. Thank God, the surgeons, doctors and nurses in Liverpool are miracle workers and sorted her out. There's nothing adequate you can say or do to thank them.

For the time being, she is in Liverpool where she is recovering remarkably quickly. I have been with her and Ailsa has been going back and forth to feed Ivy in Lancaster. It has been hard having them apart but well worth it for the incredible care they receive.

Anyway, I am just on my way to see Ivy for the first time since last thursday the 9th. I've missed Ivy so so so indescribably much and just can't wait to see how much she's changed and grown, but it's been an honour to have stayed with little brave Violet, our 'tough cookie' (as my aunt said) who has amazed us all.

Thanks for all your prayers and support, especially those who've been driving us and feeding us and looking after us in so many ways.

I'll explain further later...

James.

LPs and new notebooks.

Violet, who is growing, has had a busy, and somewhat needle-filled, week. Both her and Ivy have been a bit poorly, but Violet has had quite a few pokes and prods.

On Sunday evening, she needed a top-up blood transfusion. It took about four hours to complete, and turned her yellow skin to a lovely shade of pink.

She had to have a lumbar puncture on monday morning, a simple but painful-looking procedure to collect cerebrospinal fluid. As far as I understood, this was to check that the infection she had caught hadn't spread to her brain. If it has, which is unlikely, then she would just need further antibiotics after the basic course.

They are once again in seperate incubators, after sharing one for a week, and Violet's has been replaced with a shiny clean one.

In the meantime, I've been enjoying my first few lectures of the new term; so far, very enjoyable.

1 month, 1 day

Violet with mummy and Ivy with daddy.

Sorry I've taken so long to update. It's been busy. And when it's not been busy, it's been sleepy.

The girls are doing really well, give or take the odd infection etc. They're getting bigger and more beautiful each day.

Thanks to all those who've sent cards, gifts, best wishes and prayers and thanks to those who've been driving/feeding/looking after us over the last month. We've been truly overwhelmed with generosity, kindness and the prayers of so many.

Here are some new(ish) pictures:

Above: Ivy on Daddy; Violet being weighed; Violet's right foot.

The story so far:

Click on the photographs to enlarge. This will navigate you away from the main page.

Our beautiful daughters


Ivy Elisabeth Clare + Violet Grace Lucille

ACT I Scene 1

28th August 2008 - As per usual, Ailsa and I met at the hospital for her 28 week scan (mothers of multiples are usually scanned every fortnight or so during the last third of their pregnancy). Having had several scans in the previous months, the novelty was wearing off, and - with the babies growing - it was much harder for Ailsa and I to understand what we were seeing on the scan pictures ('is that a head or a toe?' etc)...

As usual, we waited for half an hour or so to see the Consultant after the scan. They usually just get Ailsa's name wrong and then remind us that we're expecting twins - not today! - Mr Consultant drew us a little graph, illustrating that Twin II had over taken Twin I in size and that they were both rather on the small side anyway... "Some Steroids methinks" said he, "...will help their little lungs grow, just in case they need to come out early - but worry not! it's just a precaution..." and Ailsa was prescribed and injected etc etc. This was, of course, concerning for us, but the consultant had been very reassuring - if in the unlikely circumstance they had to come out (of the womb) early, it would be a much safer option than leaving them in.

Scene 2
1st September 2008 - 'White rabbits!' - the start of a new month, and what did we both say? - "Oh just think, if the babies come a few weeks early, well, it could be next month!" ....... the moment of jinx perhaps?

Because of the Consultant's concerns , the hospital wanted the babies' heart rates monitored twice a week. Ailsa went to hospital, I went to work ... "The twins' hearts are fine."

Scene 3
4th September 2008 - Ailsa and I were getting on with our usual Thursday morning routine: I went off to the Chaplaincy, Ailsa did her pregnant-Ailsa things (mostly knitting, making birthday cards and being generally very well organised).
13:50 We met at the hospital again, had the babies' hearts monitored again, had a scan again, waited to see the consultant again and then the last thing in the world that we expected to happen, happened: the consultant said we had to get them out. Somehow, the very clever scan people with their very clever machines, realised that Twin I was resisting blood flow from the placenta, a condition that if left could cause serious problems for the little baby. They had to come out - and soon!

.......

ACT II Scene 1
c 16:00 It was important to keep monitoring the babies' heart rates so back Ailsa went onto a machine. In the mean time, Mr Consultant was busy making phone calls. Ideally, he was hoping we could be transfered to Preston - Preston was full. Hmmm, Bolton? Salford? Manchester? By the time we'd been given a room in the Delivery Ward and a soul-saving cup of tea, the consultant had left the 'cot-bureau' looking for a suitable place to be transfered to... so far it wasn't looking great - Lancashire was full, the North West in general was full, even Yorkshire became a possibility (a return to the family roots perhaps?)...

nightime in the (surprisingly comfortable, en-suite) delivery suite room was notably vacant of much sleep. Earlier, Ailsa's sister (a midwife in training) and parents came up and spent the evening with us, helping us sort out stuff that needed doing, feeding us etc etc (we'd have been in a real mess without them), and the babies had another half an hour of heart-monitoring.

A very kind and gentle nurse from the neonatal unit, a place that meant nothing to us, came and told us about the care premature babies would receive either here or wherever we might end up. We looked through some literature and a ring-binder of photos, then were taken on a late-night tour of the unit. It was surreal, absolutely surreal, utterly and incredibly surreal to find our selves walking round a hospital ward for tiny and poorly children at 11:30pm on a Thursday evening, not quite convinced that we weren't in fact dreaming...

It was an odd night, to say the very least. I've been reading an Eco novel about a chap who was shipwrecked onto another ship - it took me a good four hours to read two pages and another two hours to say half a rosary. My mind was a mush:

• are my babies in pain right now?
• are my babies safe to come out?
• I can't wait to hold my daughters!
  
• will my babies be OK when they come out?
  
• is my wife going to cope with surgery?
• can I cope with my wife in surgery?
  
• wow, I'm going to see my daughters tomorrow!
• am I happy? Am I scared? Am I nervous???

And of course, I knew in the back of my mind that this wasn't really happening, that when they do all the tests again in the morning, we'll be told not to worry, to pack up and go home... there's no place like home... there's no place like home... there's no place like home...

Scene 2
5th September 2008 - we had shared a few hours sleep between us, and in time the long night had passed, and eventually, Ailsa's 6am light-breakfast arrived. She had to fast after this in preparation for the (pending) operation (it was comforting to think we weren't the only ones in Lancaster preparing to fast).

The babies were back on the monitor straight away, beating away the slow minutes as we waited for the sonographers and other members of staff to clock on...

Scene 3
9:00 came and passed, and eventually we were taken to the familiar ultrasound room where, I just knew, we'd be told that there was nothing to worry about, to pack up and go home... but of course this wasn't the case today...

This is when the penny dropped.

Scene 4
Back we were taken to the same room, our same bags and stuff all over the place, the same cups and pillows and handkerchiefs where we'd left them. Nothing had changed at all, yet everything had changed completely.

The consultant came again and confirmed the circumstances... he had decided that the situation couldn't be left as it was any longer, we couldn't wait for the cot-bureau to transfer us elsewhere, so this was it, he was going to operate today, this afternoon, here in the Infirmary, today, here, in a few hours.

Ailsa needed to give her consent for the operation - the details and potential risks were unpleasant to listen to- and for the first time it really struck me that my wife was having a serious operation, standard though it was, which had potentially damaging risks.

My whole immediate family was there in that one body. Without that particular collection and order of matter and energy, I would not be who I am, and my children would not be at all - Ailsa was and is, to use that stodgy yet poignant cliché, my other half. Pursuing that mathematically dubious image (and never forgetting our miscarried child, Niamh) the space occupied by Ailsa at that moment in this space-time-continuum-we-call-existence consisted of my other three fifths (60%).

But seriously, I think this was the point when my latent worry eclipsed the surreality and angst overwhelmed any feeling of excitement. Luckily, this is why God invented adrenaline.

Scene 5
We were joined by Ailsa's sister and then her parents and we were all shifted with all our stuff to a larger room nearer the theatre. The anesthetist came, several nurses and midwives came, the consultant came and eventually, after a long, long, long two hours, we were prepared for the operation. It was to start at 13:30 and last about an hour. Ailsa had to wear a gown, I had to put on these sterile scrubs (and these plastic shoes that had clearly been well exposed to previous operations) and we had our photograph taken...

Costumes on; theatre awaits; the curtain is ready to rise.
Friday 5th September 2008 : 1315

...

(More to come when I have time!)

Violet Grace Lucille



Ivy Elisabeth Clare



Violet's first cuddle with mummy - breathing without assistance
Sunday 7th September 2008