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Twin terror!

When a psychic saw this coming, I don't think she got the whole picture...


Published by: Laura Hinton & Dtephanie Stafford
Published on: 21st April 2011

No matter how much I sucked in my tummy, I was sure I’d put on weight.
Standing in front of the mirror, I poked my belly.
‘Am I getting fat?’ I asked my hubby Mark, 46. ‘No,’ he frowned.
‘Hmm,’ I sighed, unconvinced.
I hadn’t been eating more than usual, I was still chasing around after my kids Tom, 18, and Winona, 16, but I was finding it tougher to fasten my size 12 jeans.
Unless… was I pregnant?
Tom and Winona were mine from a previous relationship. Me and Mark didn’t have children, but we’d been trying.
And what if it was twins?!
Thing is, years ago a psychic told me I’d have twins. Could she be right? After all, her other prediction had come true.
She’d told me my future husband would come knocking at my door. And when my new neighbour moved in, he’d popped around to borrow some milk – and I’d fallen for him!
Mark and me had been married for five years now.
A few days later, I took a pregnancy test: negative. ‘Maybe it’s faulty,’ I thought to myself.
I looked three months pregnant. The test had to be wrong. ‘I’ll get tested at the doctor’s,’ I decided.
But that came back negative as well. ‘You’re not pregnant,’ the doctor said. ‘But I agree your tummy’s definitely swollen.’
‘Are you sure I’m not expecting?’ I frowned – after all, the psychic had seemed so sure.
‘I think we’ll send you for tests,’ he smiled.
Not wanting to worry Mark, I kept my doctor’s visit quiet. And part of me was still desperate for my bulge to be a baby.
Maybe the doctor had it wrong.
Or maybe not. A week later, my results were back.
‘You have a fibroid tumour in your uterus,’ said the doctor.
‘A fibro-what?’ I asked, rubbing my tummy. ‘It’s not a baby?’
‘No,’ he said gently. ‘It’s a benign tumour, feeding on the protein and oestrogen in your womb.’
I felt numb. One minute I thought I was pregnant… now I had a tumour? A tumour that was feeding off me. What if it was going to kill me, what if I didn’t live to get the chance to have any more children?
‘Is it terminal?’ I asked, voice shaking.
‘No,’ he said. ‘But we’ll need to operate to remove it.’
Sitting Mark down that evening, I broke the news to him. ‘I thought I was pregnant,’ I sobbed. ‘But I’m not… I have a tumour.’
‘Come here,’ he sighed, hugging me. ‘We can try for children after the operation. What matters is that you’re okay.’
But over the next few weeks my tummy seemed to increase in size each day, and I felt sick and tired. I was terrified the tumour was spreading.
Further scans revealed more bad news. ‘There are two tumours,’ the doctor told me. ‘We missed one the first time.’
I couldn’t believe it. In a weird, twisted way the psychic had been right. But instead of twin babies growing inside me, I had twin cysts.
‘Well, at least once the operation’s out of the way we can focus on having a baby,’ I smiled to Mark, squeezing his hand.
‘Exactly,’ he winked.
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible,’ added the doctor. ‘You need a hysterectomy, or the tumours will return.’
I felt like I’d been punched. My ‘twins’ had destroyed my chances of a family with Mark.
Gently, he took my hand. ‘Look. I can live without us having children, but I can’t live without you,’ he whispered. ‘You, Winona and Tom are all I need.’
I had to come to terms with the fact I’d never have another baby – and that got more difficult, the bigger my tumours grew. Over the next two months, my tummy swelled until I was size 16.
None of my clothes fitted any more, and I had to dig out my old maternity stuff. I looked six months pregnant and, worse still, people began to comment.
I look after the elderly, and no matter how often I told them the truth, they insisted I was pregnant.
‘Doctors don’t know what they’re talking about,’ one woman tutted. ‘Of course you’re pregnant!’
‘No, I’m having a hysterectomy,’ I corrected her gently.
‘No dear, you mean a Caesarean,’ she said.
And, not only did I look pregnant, I felt it, but I’d be ‘giving birth’ to twin cysts.
Like any expectant mum, I found myself asking a familiar question as I went into theatre…
‘Have you got the camera?’ I checked with Mark.
‘It’s with the surgeon,’ he said.
‘Great, then I’ll have some snaps of my twins,’ I replied.
It might sound weird, but I wanted to see what the cysts looked like. I’d carried them round for four months and, in a strange way, I’d become attached to them.
After the four-hour operation, I woke to find the surgeon standing by me. ‘It was a success,’ he smiled, placing a photo of my tumours in my hand. ‘One of them was six inches long.’
‘Wow! That’s massive,’ I gasped.
‘They were the size of melons, with a layer of bloody flesh stretched around them,’ the surgeon explained.
Staring at the photos, I shook my head in disbelief. They really were almost as big as twin babies!
The cysts stole my chance to have more children, but not for a long, healthy life.
I’ll still see Tim and Winona grow up as I spend the rest of my years with Mark – and that’s what matters.
Samantha Holder, 40, Mangotsfield, Bristol