Flashback 35 years - my twins, Pam and Pat, are delivered 11 weeks premature. The doctors all look very serious. It's a very crowded delivery room - I have 4 or 5 doctors of my own and their staff of nurses, there's a neonatologist and his own crew of nurses, pulmonary technicians, and others for each baby. And of course, Rod is there. They expected that the babies would weigh about 1-1/2 pounds each, but because of my gestational diabetes, they were a little over 3 pounds each. But they are still severely premature and the doctors give them a 10% chance of survival. I am devastated, Rod is strong.
Flash forward 8 weeks. My babies are ready to come home 3 weeks earlier than expected, even though those 8 weeks haven't been easy. Pam has done very well. Pat has had so many setbacks. One of her lungs have collapsed, her heart has stopped. But she is a fighter, and nothing could keep her down. They weigh a little over 4 pounds each. They are on a three hour feeding schedule, and it seems like all I do is feed babies. Oh, and change diapers.
And now today. They are beautiful, confident, and loving women. They have no children of their own, but do so much for their nieces and nephews. You can always count on them when you need them. They have taken Bubby for casting on his feet, they take Krissy to softball or band when needed, they take Izzy to Girl Scouts and choir practice when asked. And I can't tell you how much they do for Rod and I. They are a blessing for sure, and I thank God every day that they beat the odds.