Twin Trouble

“Behold, children are a gift of the Lord, the fruit of the womb is a reward.”
Psalm 127:3

When joyfully married in July 1981, Marilyn and I casually took for granted that children were a part of our future. Having children was important to us, but there was absolutely no sense of urgency.

Then, around February 1982, we found ourselves unexpectantly pregnant. Surprise! Surprise!

We accepted the news and carried on with our lives. On our fourth visit to the doctor, we received even more surprising news: “Mr. and Mrs. Easley, it looks like you are going to have twins.” “Twins??” We were shocked! Our family had no known history of twins. When we questioned the doctor he told us that roughly one in sixty births are twins, regardless of the parents’ genetic history.

We adjusted. We had purchased one crib, a dear friend loaned us a second one. A second car seat—bought. Second this—bought, second that—bought.

We were ready.

On the morning of our six-month appointment we awoke to a downpour. The night had been a tough one for Marilyn. Random flu-like pains had kept her awake. I was scheduled to go to work that day, coming home in time to take her to her appointment in Jackson, about an hour away.

“David, please stay here with me! Don’t go to work this morning!” Marilyn pleaded.

I called and told my office mates I would not be coming in that day.

Around seven o’clock, I suggested that we go ahead and depart for Jackson. Why not? We had an appointment later that day anyway. Once in Jackson, we could eat breakfast somewhere, and then be there in plenty of time for our appointment at 11:00. We dressed, loaded into the car, and took off.

The heavy rain continued. While on the road, we began to notice a vague pattern to Marilyn’s pains. What in the world was happening? Surely not labor pains. The day of your six-month appointment is far too early for those. The developing pain patterns prompted us to stop at my cousin’s home who happened to live along the way. We used their phone and called the doctor’s office.

“Meet us at the hospital,” the nurse replied. We thanked my cousin and his wife, walked back out to our car in the pouring rain, and hastily departed.

Once at the hospital, Marilyn was whisked into the maternity suite. After a time, I saw a familiar doctor. “What’s happening?” I inquired nervously. The doctor soberly replied, “David, your wife is eight centimeters dilated.”

Whoa! This is for real.

At this stage of pregnancy, a journey through the birth canal would be far too traumatic for our little ones; we agreed to the doctor’s recommendation of an emergency c-section.

Shortly we welcomed Scott Dowdell and Gregory John into the world.

The pre-mature boys weighed in at roughly two pounds each. Thankfully, we were at Hinds General Hospital, then the premier infant intensive care facility in the state.

The boys were immediately placed in incubators. I was allowed a visit once each hour. Marilyn, confined to her hospital room, was afforded no opportunity to visit her first-borns.

Scott, the eldest, died within 24 brief hours; Greg lived another 12 hours. Their lungs were simply not sufficiently developed to support them. We were devastated, broken-hearted.

I left the hospital that day, looked about me, and was overcome with a genuine disbelief that the world continued to turn, despite my deep sorrow. People laughed and joked. How could that be? I saw a young mother, cigarette dangling from her lips, loading her baby into her car. Why was it that she was allowed to keep her baby, while our twins had been torn from us? How could the world go on as if nothing had happened?

The bodies of our precious twins were placed into a simple pasteboard box. My parents offered to transport the boys to the funeral home in Port Gibson. The next day Marilyn, confined to the hospital, was unable to attend the grave-side funeral service. No Port Gibson native would have been surprised to see the outpouring of love and sympathy by dozens and dozens of my life-long close friends attending the service.

When Marilyn was released from the hospital, we returned home with a transformed perspective on the importance of children in our lives. The doctor advised us to wait three months before attempting another pregnancy. We did just that, we waited exactly three months; nine months later we welcomed our oldest daughter, Amanda, into the world.

Since then we have been blessed with four more children, for a total of five. Our perspective on the importance of children to us has not waivered since the day of our great loss.

Despite our loss—perhaps because of that loss—we will never, ever forget how truly blessed we are.

“Behold, children are a gift of the LORD, The fruit of the womb is a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, So are the children of one’s youth. How blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them; They will not be ashamed when they speak with their enemies in the gate.”
Psalms 127:3-5