Oops! For Renee....

**Edited 1/23/09 @ 10:44 AM to add photographs**

I'm a compassionate person.  I want other people to know they are not alone.  I want them to know that we all make mistakes and so I tend to spill my horrific stories just to make them feel better.  Don't you think that's extremely compassionate?   So.... when reading some of my favorite blogs today, I couldn't help but let Renee know that I've done the same thing.  Err...but on a very different level!!!  

It's an "Oops!" day.  In honor of Renee...  (giggle)

My first two beautiful babies came in one package.  I suffered through 8 months of pregnancy with them, and I mean suffered.  From 5 weeks on I was puking at the sight of food.  We found out I was having twins when I was 6 weeks along (and ohhhh so sick!!).  It was at my first ER visit where they found I was carrying monoamniotic-monochorionic twins.  A week later,  I had to have a home health nurse take care of me because I couldn't keep anything down.  The only good moments, for my then 18 year old body, was between the 3rd and 4th month when I felt pretty good and could feel them rolling and softly kicking. 

Around my fourth month of pregnancy, I started contracting heavily and was given the vile Trebutaline and ordered to do  Tokos monitoring from home.  I contracted daily and was constantly told to go into the hospital for shots of morphine and trebutaline.  Not fun!

At thirty-five weeks, they arrived via c-section weighing in at 5 lbs & 14 lbs 11 oz.  Identical boys with identical 2.5 week NICU stays.  

Moving on to about 7 months old.....

Brenden was a sick little boy.  Constantly having breathing issues, coughing, heavy mucous and seemed to catch every horrible cold/pneumonia/bronchitis there was.  We spent a lot of time at the doctor's offices trying to find out what was wrong with the poor little guy.  Despite his constant coughing, retraction and stridor, he was a very happy baby.  

On a certain trip to Sunrise Hospital in Las Vegas (we lived there at the time), Brenden was having a chest x-ray ordered by his pediatrician.  Rob and I were in the waiting area watching Brenden & Braden crawl on the floor and wrestle with each other.  You could hear Brenden breathing with all the gunk in his chest, so telling my very identical boys apart wasn't difficult.  

The radiologist comes out and calls for Brenden.  I pick him up and follow her into the x-ray room.  She proceeds to strap my baby into this archaic device:

 This is not my baby.  

My son is not having any of this.  He screams that blood curdling scream where everyone comes running and I couldn't do anything about it.  This wasn't the usual response and it wasn't the first time he had been in one of these devices.  I had to just stand there and watch and try very hard to comfort him with my voice.  He shot me glares mid-scream and my own feelings of claustrophobia were starting to make me have an anxiety attack.  The tech lady quickly takes an x-ray then moves the tube into a different position and takes another x-ray.  I think she even took one more.  While he waited (screaming!!) in this contraption, I hear a knock on the door.  I look at the tech and then hear another knock and my husbands voice calling, "Lorri?"  I was agitated because my baby was screaming and sort of yelled spoke firmly at him through the door, "What? He's not finished!"  The tech was walking to the door just as I hear him say, "Um...honey....you have the wrong baby."  We both stop dead and look at each other. I look over at Braden who is now hoarse and sobbing and said, "Oh my god!  That's not Brenden!"  The poor tech was in shock and so I opened the door to see my husband standing there with Brenden who is happily kicking his feet and has this huge smile on his face...along with the raspy breathing you can hear a mile away.  The tech goes over and removes Braden who will not even look at me, but holds his hands out and cries "da da da da da"  (can you blame him?).  We switch babies and  proceed with the original plan.  

Brenden was placed in the contraption and smiled.  He didn't mind his hands being stuck above his head and even laughed. He was too busy moving his eyes from side to side, checking everything out, to care about being immobilized.   To him, this was normal stuff.  The tech went about her job as I stood there wondering what kind of mother does that?  Not one bit of complaint came from Brenden.  Not one!  It was as if Braden was trying to tell me, "I'm not Brenden! I'm not him! This sucks! My mommy is a ninny!"

Braden has suffered no lasting effects from the trauma he experienced that day.  However, at 15 years old...I'm wondering if he hasn't been trying to pay me back for say, the past 3 years.