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Doubly Blessed on Christmas
A Mother's Story of Delivering Twins
By Kendeyl Johansen
I lifted my gigantic stomach first before turning over in bed on Christmas Eve 1999. Snow filtered softly down to ensure a white Christmas in Park City, Utah, and I could hardly wait to watch my 3-year-old son, Max, open his presents.
I hoped tomorrow's best gift would be my twins still growing safe inside of me. Several friends had agonized watching their preemie babies struggle in the hospital, and I hoped to avoid such heartache. I felt lucky to have made it to 35 weeks with two babies, and every extra day I remained pregnant was a blessing.
Of course, our mostly-male family would welcome another son, but I bought a book on gender selection, and Lars and I tried out the "girl" method. My husband was all smiles as this meant making love daily for almost two weeks.
After the first month of "trying," a home test confirmed my pregnancy, and I danced around the house holding Max, making him giggle and Lars grin. I decided to make a doctor's appointment, because we were leaving for a family vacation to Norway soon, and I was morning, noon and night sick. Since I felt as green as a gecko, I wanted the doctor's OK to fly.
My doctor shook his head and grinned with skepticism when I mentioned my gender selection book, but his smile vanished when my exam revealed a too-small uterus. The doctor feared I might miscarry, and he scheduled me for an immediate ultrasound at LDS hospital in Salt Lake City. Lars was in Mexico on business, and I wished he was there to hold me. Worries about miscarriage consumed my thoughts. My hormones surged and I cried all the way to the hospital. Things had been going so well.
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