28/04/2023
To all our family and friends, it is with heavy hearts we share the news below.
Today has been a day to remember. Today we lost our babies. The emotional rollercoaster we are feeling is surreal. This tragedy started last night, April 24, 2023, at 6 pm. We would later be informed at 8 pm of the grim news that our surrogate’s water broke and that she was experiencing some heavy bleeding. Working in the medical field, we knew that some bleeding during pregnancy could be expected; however, given the amount of blood, something was not right. We were scared and confused. In the blink of an eye, everything changed. We went from gathering addresses for sending out baby announcements and celebrating with friends to the possibility of losing our unborn kids. We asked ourselves what this meant for the twins, our surrogate, and our chances of becoming fathers. We would have to address all these questions later; we needed to think clearly about our next move.
The hospital presented us with many options, many of which had long-term repercussions. Because the babies were 16 weeks and four days, the odds seemed against us. We quickly looked up flights to Colorado to be present for the proceedings—no luck until the following day. We considered driving through the night; however, the weather between Utah and Colorado made for unsafe road conditions. We felt stuck between a rock and a hard place and opted to wait until we knew more information before acting out of character or on our emotions. We waited for an eternity to hear back from the doctors. It was 4-5 hours of “what if,” “what if,” “what if.” The phone rang a little after midnight. An ultrasound was done, and the babies still had strong heartbeats at 127 bpm. Blood work and labs were drawn on our surrogate again to check for the onset of an infection. At that point, they presented us with a handful of options. Make it 48 hours and try to get the pregnancy to 20-22 weeks gestation, attempt to do a delayed delivery by adding a stitch to our surrogate’s cervix to save one of the twins, or dilate and curettage (or termination).
The doctors felt we had a fighting chance now but encouraged us to transfer to a more specialized facility in the morning. Given the options presented to us, we discussed them with our surrogate and her husband in detail and felt we needed to give the babies a fighting chance. We were still going to speak with the specialist in the morning and see what options had the highest probability of success. Our surrogate’s safety was our number one priority. We had to set aside our other feelings and fears.
Fast forward to today, April 25, 2023. We spoke with the doctors, who seemed encouraged that the bleeding had slowed and that the labs showed no signs of infection. Another ultrasound was done, and babies A and B were wiggling around. Again, the doctor advised that we transfer to a more specialized hospital. We agreed to the transfer, and our surrogate was transported via ambulance to the specialty hospital. Upon arrival, after the doctors did an initial assessment, they told us that the babies had no chance of survival and that terminating was our only course of action. These are words no parent-to-be ever wants to hear. Given the situation, the medical team feared the ruptured sac’s placenta might grow into our surrogate’s previous c-section scar. The excess bleeding we were seeing was from one of the twin’s placentae attached to our surrogate’s cervix.
The doctor informed us that the bleeding would continue and, if left unchecked, would become life-threatening. The doctor ordered an in-depth ultrasound to confirm his findings. He also offered a recording of our little girl’s heartbeats in preparation for their impending termination. We agreed to the ultrasound and felt that recording their heartbeats would help with the grieving process, should his findings be correct. They wheeled in the ultrasound machine, and we watched our little ones on the screen. Hoping the doctor’s findings were not accurate and they still had a fighting chance.
Suddenly during the ultrasound, as we focused on the babies’ movements and heartbeats, we had a large group of people coming out of the woodwork. Since we were attending the appointment via Zoom, we could not see how many people were in the room and who was talking. They asked our surrogate and us about our options for what to do with the babies’ remains, which was hard to hear, and we could not communicate emotionally with the providers. Kyle was an emotional wreck, and Peter was numb. They were asking us about disposing of our little girls; all the while, we were watching them move, wiggle, and hear their hearts beat while trying to process losing them before getting to hold them.
One of the sonography techs in the room kept asking the others to be quiet for the heartbeat recording. Our surrogate’s husband finally said, “Let’s not take this moment away from them.” The providers must not have realized how insensitive they were, or perhaps they were so disassociated, given their exposure to these situations. They said they would send us teddy bears with a recording of the babies’ heartbeats. And depending on the procedure, they could cast the little girls’ footprints. We could not hear the heartbeats due to the number of people in the room. We would not have been able to hear anyway as we fought back tears and tried to keep our composure.
After the medical team got the recordings of the heartbeats, the conversation about what to do with the remains continued. The two options were either they could be cremated by the hospital, and they would spread their ashes in an undisclosed location across the Rocky Mountains, or we could send the remains to a local funeral home and make our arrangements. We opted to have the remains cremated and spread across the Rocky Mountains by the hospital.
We grieved, pondering that we would not get to scatter the remains or know where they were permanently resting. We could not dwell on this; we needed to be available for our surrogate, who was also undergoing the loss with us. Given the location of the placentas, our surrogate’s health was also at risk. They called in a gynecological oncologist to discuss the possible complications during the procedure. They gave us the prognosis that a total hysterectomy, extreme blood loss, and the risk of death could be genuine outcomes.
Again, we thought, “How; how could this be happening? We have done everything right!” Peter felt the urge to scream. I encouraged him to feel all the emotions. We cried and wept, awaiting the surgical results. Hours passed, and we received the news that she had undergone surgery. Our surrogate’s husband informed us that she did receive multiple blood transfusions during her operation. I cannot help but be thankful to the Red Cross for providing those products and for my coworkers who might have manufactured those units that helped save her life. At that moment, though, it became real, our kids were gone, and today will forever be known as the day we lost our twin girls.
We faced difficult ethical and medical decisions and have had difficult financial decisions to make. We have been funding our surrogacy journey 100% ourselves, from years and years of breeding and selling Bengal cats to pinching and saving from every paycheck. This hurdle will likely bring some hefty medical bills over the next few weeks, and with the uncertainty of insurance coverage, this could be a massive hit to our life savings. Should you feel inclined, and are able, feel free to donate fiscally to help offset some of the costs. We would greatly appreciate your support. Via PayPal or Venmo.
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While we cannot see past the horizon, we still have the hopes and dreams to become fathers. We ask that everyone respect our privacy and reframe from home visits while we grieve. We love you all and expect, given time, we will begin to see past this moment. Our family motto is “We do hard things.” We will get through this and see y’all on the other side.
Kyle & Peter Best
