Thursday, January 3, 2008 at 2:35 am, Zoë Harper Simpson and Lennox Maximilian Simpson came into this world via emergency c-section under general anesthesia. Zoë measured one pound 10 ounces and 12 inches long; Lennox measured one pound 13.5 ounces and 12.2 inches long. They were taken immediately to the NICU.
I was confined to bed all day Thursday, but Shannon visited both and brought back photos. Thursday night, I spiked a fever of 104 and was treated for early signs of pneumonia.
Friday, I was able to visit the twins. Zoë was holding her own, while Lennox fought against everything from a collapsed lung, to bleeding issues, to heart and lung damage.
Saturday, we visited the twins several times. Both were having very good, quiet days and even Lennox was being weaned from some of his medications.
Late Saturday afternoon, January 5, 2008, Lennox’s lung collapsed again. There are no stronger treatment options. We had all of his IV lines removed and held him while the respirator breathed for him. His father held him and told him how proud we were of him for fighting so long. We truly believe the two weeks in utero after his membrane ruptured gave Zoë the time she needed to be able to survive her battles. His grandmother held him and told him how much she loved him, while his grandfather stroked his cheek. I held him and reminded him of all the wonderful moments of the past six months, from his first soap-bubble photo, to his first heartbeat, to the day we called his father from the parking lot to let him know he had a son on the way, to all the blueberry smoothies we drank for breakfast.
They gave him pain medication, removed his respirator, and brought him to us. Sometime between 6:30 and 7:00, our son, Lennox Maximilian Simpson, fell asleep in my arms, holding his father’s finger. He isn’t hurting any more. Our pain is just starting.
I am turning off comments. I know all of you are filled with words of support, but I know there may be those who take exception with our decision and I will not have that dissention here. I’m also going to probably go away from here for a while. I need to focus on my daughter, who just lost her first friend, my husband who has gone so far in taking care of us, and me. Trust me when I say we feel your love and support. We can’t express how much good your words have done these past two weeks. Just right now, radio silence is what we need.