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babies!

Tw-incredible
babies!

My little 'uns are record breaking battlers...


Published by: Jessica Gibb and Alison Stacey
Published on: 1 September 2011

Wow, men are daft sometimes. Here I was, at my 12-week scan, and my boyfriend had just missed the point entirely.

The nurse had peered at the screen and said the magic words: ‘I think I can see two!’

‘Two what?’ Matt, 36, had said.

I couldn’t help laughing. ‘Umm, two babies,’ I chuckled.

We couldn’t have been more pleased – and at my five-month scan, we were told I was expecting a boy and a girl.

‘We’ve picked the names Oliver and Maisy,’ I told my kids Adam, 15, and Lucy, 13.

‘How cute,’ giggled Lucy. ‘I can’t wait to meet them.’

It seemed that the twins couldn’t wait, either. A few weeks later, I was getting ready to go to work when a sharp pain ripped across my tummy.

Dropping my hair straighteners, I gasped for breath and suddenly felt a gush of water between my legs.

Oh God, the babies. I was less than six months pregnant. They could still be aborted at this stage – my little ones would never survive if they were born now.

‘Matt, quick,’ I panicked. ‘The twins are coming!’

He rushed me to Hereford Hospital. From there, I was put in an ambulance and taken to Bristol Southmead Hospital where they had a specialist baby unit.

After two days, I went into labour. My contractions were minutes apart by now, and I was taken straight to the delivery room.

After 20 minutes, Oliver was born weighing 1lb 8oz, followed by Maisy who, at 1lb 7oz, weighed the same as a box of cornflakes. But there was no time for a cuddle as my tiny twins were whisked away. I didn’t even catch a glimpse of them.

‘What did they look like?’ I asked Matt, who’d watched them being born.

‘Small,’ he whispered. ‘So small.’ But small didn’t necessarily mean weak.

I prayed they had some fight in them, wished I could be by their bedside willing them on. Instead, I had to make do with a photo, my first look at them.

Me and Matt sat silently staring at it while, down the corridor, Oliver and Maisy were given oxygen and put in incubators. An hour later, we were allowed to visit them in intensive care.

‘My poor babies,’ I said, trembling as I took in the wires and tubes.

‘At 23 weeks, they’re the youngest babies we’ve ever cared for, let alone the youngest twins,’ said the doctor.

‘We’re taking it hour by hour,’ he smiled gently.

As every hour ticked by, it felt like a lifetime. But the twins were gradually getting stronger.

The worst thing was not being able to hold them. Their skin was so delicate, it would break. Maisy’s palm was the size of my thumbnail.

After three weeks, they had to have operations on their underdeveloped hearts and lungs, and Maisy needed eye surgery to save her sight.

We spent every day by their incubators, singing Bruno Mars when it came on the radio and reading Maisy Mouse.

Then, when they were eight weeks old, we were allowed to hold them.

‘Hello, gorgeous,’ I breathed, cradling Maisy, tears in my eyes.

‘And you’re gorgeous, too!’ Matt told Oliver.

From then on, we were allowed to change their nappies and helped keep their eyes and mouths clean. I’d felt helpless before, unable to do my job as a mum properly, but now I was in my element, caring for my babies.

Soon enough, I was dressing Oliver to bring him home! He was discharged after four months, Maisy followed five weeks later.

Before I knew it, we were celebrating their first birthday in June. Friends and family came round for a barbecue, but the stars of the show were our little miracles Maisy and Oliver.

Maisy still needs oxygen, as her lungs are a little weak, and the babies’ tiny size is a constant reminder that they are the UK’s youngest surviving twins. But we never forget how enormously lucky we are to have them.

Zoe Crownshaw, 37, Tenbury Wells, Worcestershire