Having recently discovered I was pregnant by way of a home pregnancy test, the kind that can detect the presence of HCG quite early, I was all aglow. With my 21 month old child en-tow, I made my way to the obstetrician's eagerly awaiting the official declaration of my pregnancy. Somehow, home-testing always left me with the lingering doubt that it was a false-positive. I was immensely enjoying seeing my doctor again and sharing with him silly tales of my daughter he'd delivered. As I lay on the sterile table, with that sticky crinkly paper adhering to all exposed part of my epidermis, I told the frightening tale of my sister's twin pregnancy. She'd been through a very high-risk pregnancy with twins who had a rare presentation of Twin to Twin Transfusion Syndrome (TTTS). http://hubpages.com/hub/Twin-to-Twin-Transfusion-Syndrome--TTTS

The ultrasound began, he squirted on the slimy lotion and began the exploration of this tiny fetus growing inside of me. I was filling him in on all the details of my sister's pregnancy, saying things like: “Wow, twin pregnancies can be scary, huh? and “Not sure I could've handled that ordeal.” when I noticed he'd suddenly become quiet. I glanced at the monitor, noticed he was panning back and forth in the nether regions quite furiously. In that slow motion kind of way, when life throws at you something colossal, I caught a glimpse of the source of the silence: not one, but two black sac images with tiny embryos tucked inside. Simultaneously I said: It's twins, isn't it?!” and my obstetrician said: “You're NEVER going to believe this!”

I basically collapsed back onto the sticky paper, with pragmatism engulfing me, all I could picture was a minivan, clearly a larger house, and double the baby expenses. The room was filled with a deafening silence, my husband was speechless, when I felt the probe continue on its merry way, I said: “What are you doing now?” He said: “Looking to see if there's another one.” I immediately accepted my triplet fate, as this was SO something that could happen to me. A regular Duggar family we'd be. I began wondering why women don't have three breasts, three arms, and wished I'd bought into polygamy. Clearly these triplets would take a village. My thoughts were pleasantly interrupted by: “Nothing else there, just twins.” I grabbed my ultrasound proof, hopped in my soon-to-be sold car, and sped home to my soon-to-be on the market house.

I knew I had to share the news delicately with my mother, as the last twin pregnancy in our family almost did her in. I calmly stated: “Well, it seems I have a new delivery date. THEY will be arriving right around your birthday.” It took her a minute to extract herself from the denial. I said: “Did you hear me?” She said: “Yes, you said 'they', and you're kidding, right?” I assured her I was not. It must have taken her a lot to muster up the old enthusiasm and support, but she did rise to the occasion and assured me everything would be alright.

I'd been taking my daughter to a playgroup every Wednesday since she was 10 months old, so off I went with my first photographs of my twins. I slapped them down and the table and asked if anyone could find anything unusual about these images. A friend with a keen eye immediately noticed the “extra” fetus and said: “Oh, my! TWINS, congratulations!” Other responses had me a bit baffled as most of them went something like this: “Oh, noooo, are you okay?” One was just downright offensive: “I used to think I'd like to have twins until a friend of mind had them. Watching what she went through changed my mind!” Even heard a few whispered:  "Gald it's not me(s)!" Gee, thanks. In case you're wondering, if you discover someone you know if pregnant with multiples, just say: “Congratulations, what a blessing.” It's not some bleak diagnosis, really.

One beautiful September Portland morning was quite an early one for us, we were on our way to meet with our perinatologist (a new high risk obstetrician) for the big abdominal ultrasound. We'd be able to see a lot more now that they'd grown and were high with hope that we could determine their gender(s). NPR was barely audible in the background and I could hear something about planes and a tragedy. I immediately assumed the commentator was remembering and making a tribute to some awful event in the past. My mind switched back to the anticipation of a more intimate meeting of our twins. My husband said: “Wait, I think something really bad is going on” as he made a swift turn of the volume dial. Again, the images came to us in slow frames as we heard such things as: “A plane has crashed into one of the Twin Towers, an act of terrorism, another plane's gone down, etc...” Suddenly, my ultrasound took a back seat. We checked into imaging, and sat in silence with our fellow Americans watching the video footage of this American disaster on 9/11/2001. All eyes were glued to the television, as were ours, with an eerie silence in that waiting room. Pregnant women were ubiquitous, supporting spouses by their sides, and everyone was holding their partners' hands with a novel purpose: one for lives lost, not beginning.

This was the day, a day etched tragically in American history, that I learned I was having a boy and a girl. A day I had to feel selfishly guilty that I was filled with joy over having both genders, and how these unborn lives were healthy and growing strong inside me in this safe haven. For months to come they'd be sheltered from this outside world. Mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers were all grieving the end of lives dear. I would still respectfully, but quietly celebrate these novel lives, but I'd join them all in sorrow of precious lives lost. And, I'd forever be left with the task of telling these future people of that awful day in September. I'd lit a candle for my boy and girl, while 2,752 were lit in mourning.