I know because I counted, because some part of me already understood I was going to need the number.
But the girls were taken from me almost immediately.
I had major surgeries ahead and a long rehabilitation.
When I finally came to — nine days later, in a room that smelled of antiseptic and lilies somebody had sent — the doctors told me the TWINS HAD D*ED.
Nine days.
I had missed nine days of my own life, floating on machines, and I woke into a room where three people were already waiting with their faces arranged.
Terrence, by the window.
Dr. Halvorsen, with a clipboard.
And Danielle, closest to the bed, holding my hand before I’d even fully opened my eyes.
Sudden infant de*th syndrome.
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