This month is TTTS Awareness Month, and World Awareness Day is officially on December 7th. Across the world, families who have been affected by TTTS will be lighting candles, saying prayers, and walking in Memory of or in Honor of their special baby or babies.
If you would like to post a prayer for your special one, click on the picture below
In honor of TTTS World Awareness Day, I thought it would be appropriate to talk about Matthew and Steven, since it is their mother Mary who became the first major advocate for TTTS Awareness by starting the TTTS Foundation, and World Awareness Day is on their birthday. Happy 23rd Birthday Matthew and Steven (on Dec. 7th!)
Matthew and Steven - Mary's Story
I met my husband when I was 14
and he was 17 years old in our hometown of Bay Village, Ohio. We dated
for 6 years and got married
at age 20 and 23. It was the year after my sophomore
year at the University of Kentucky. I took a semester off, and then
returned
to a local college to finish my degree in West Chester,
PA where we moved after we were married. After graduation, I worked a
full-time
job and saved all my paychecks for the down payment for
our first house that we were dreaming of. Another 2 years went by and I
was aching
to have children. I was extremely homesick to move back
to Bay Village.
In April of 1989, we were back in Bay Village for
Easter. I have always been very private in my relationship with
God. I grew up in the Bay Methodist Church, a beautiful
church along the water of Lake Erie. When the church was empty, I went
back and sat in the last pew. I bowed my head in tears
telling God how deeply I wanted to come home, how all I have ever wanted
in my life was to marry Steve, have children, and live
in Bay Village. I said, "I want to go wherever You want and need me to
go, but I hope and pray that I can come home."
Steve had been looking for a new job for 2 years. When
we came back to West Chester after Easter, within one month,
he had a job coming back to Cleveland and at age 24, I
was pregnant after the first try. We were going home. It was a miracle.
On Mother's Day, I called my friend to tell her I was
pregnant. I told her, "Maybe it's twins!" It was not even a question, I
knew.
We moved back home into my parent's house so we could
look for our first house. On July 20, I went to hear my
baby's heartbeat. We were very excited. The doctor
placed the stethoscope on my tummy and we heard it. Then, I just looked
up
to him knowing there was more. I said, "Maybe you will
hear another." He looked at me strangely. Then, his eyes got big.
He said, "My God, you are right!" This is a moment that
truly has no words to describe the depth of the joy. I felt so
chosen and special. My dreams were all coming true. My
prayers, alone in my childhood church, all coming true.
The next day, we had our first ultrasound done to
confirm our twins. I was alone with the ultrasound technician
as she began. Then, she left the room get my husband and
my mother. I could not wait any longer. I had waited 6 years to get
married,
4 more years until getting pregnant. I had followed all
the 'rules' in life to get to this point. I turned my head to look at
the
ultrasound screen. My two little boys were looking right
back at me. It was the happiest day of my life. Later that same day,
Steve and I bought our first house in our hometown of
Bay Village, Ohio, 411 Longbeach Parkway.
I always felt that if you were a good person, nice to
others and followed the 'Golden Rule', that if you were truly
'there' for your family and friends and followed God's
laws, that good things would always happen. It did not take me long to
realize,
however, that even good people have bad things happen to
them.
Two days later, I was in the most severe pain I could
ever imagine. It had been slowly approaching in the previous
two weeks. Monday, I began what was 36 hours of
screaming pain. It was all on my left side. I would have burning,
shooting pain
down my legs and up my back. We called anyone we could
think of in our family and everyone had 'answers' of where the pain was
coming from. I did exercises, positioned my body certain ways,
and laid back in a Lazyboy chair, then struggled in bed.
The pain would not stop shooting. I remember crawling to the bathroom
and
just crying from my soul. I kept telling my husband to
massage the pain away, to chase it with his hands and make it stop.
Then,
at one instant, he grabbed my tummy in an attempt to
massage it. I screamed the most horrific scream; "You just grabbed a
tumor!" I could feel the 'ball' inside me. My husband
turned white and his mouth dropped open. Slowly, he said, "Mary,
if you are in that much pain you have to go to the
hospital!" Never did that thought enter my mind. I cried with tears
running
down my face, No! I will NOT go to the hospital. If I go
to the hospital that will mean something is wrong with my babies. I
will
not let something be wrong with them! I just got them
and nothing is going to take them away from me!"
The night went on unchanged. The next day as well.
Finally, we called our doctor and begged to be seen. It was not
until that night at 7PM. In the waiting room, I could
not stand, I could not sit, I could not move. I just was. Somehow, I
slowly
entered the exam room. The pain was excruciating. He
tried to touch me and I screamed, 'No!" The man did not know what
to do with me, but he should have. He told me I had the
flu. He sent me home on pain medication. That was it.
I was afraid to take the medication for fear it would
hurt the babies. Out of desperation, I took two pills on
the way home. I felt only drowsy, the pain continued. As
the week went on, I stopped taking the pills. My fear was just too
strong.
I was also getting increasingly nauseous. By Friday, I
began the medication in the morning. But, by the afternoon, the nausea
was
out of control.
Just one week after hearing the best news of my life, I was dry
heaving every 3 minutes and I could not stop.
My doctor told me over the phone, "It is time to come
into the hospital." I could not fight that idea anymore. I gave
up, and we went.
On the drive, I felt almost happy. I was relieved that we were
finally going in. I told myself, "This must
be what it feels like to take that drive to the hospital
to deliver your babies." Steve drove cautiously slow. With each bump
of the road, I cringed in pain. In looking back. I only
had one day. One day of joy, completeness, feeling chosen and blessed.
I only had one day.
At the hospital, they gave me more medication. Demerol
did not even make a bit of difference. My OB came in and said,
"It is at times like these, when I do not know what is
wrong, that I need to send you to a high risk doctor." The ultrasound
was the next morning.
The ultrasound began. It lasted close to 4 hours. How I
laid on that table for that long, I do not know. I kept
begging the doctor, "Please, please tell me is there
something wrong with my babies!" He would not answer. His only reply
was, "After, after. In my office." His face was blank.
He pierced at the screen.
In his office he told us, "You have twin to twin
transfusion syndrome. It does not look good for one of your
babies and probably both." I said, "Twin to twin what?" I
had never heard of it before. I instantly succumbed to shock.
He started talking. The room began to get cloudy as if a
fog machine was turned on. I turned to look out the window. It was
a beautiful sunny day. But, I would no longer ever be
the same person again. He spoke, but I could barely hear him or see him.
I only managed to hear the words; "There is nothing that
can be done."
I also learned that the pain I had was from a large fibroid tumor in my uterus. It was on the left side. As my uterus
grew in the next week, the pain would subside. The diagnosis, however, remained.
We spent that night in the hospital in devastation.
Everyone was whispering around us. We were nothing but gossip
amongst the nurses on my floor. The next day, we
demanded a consultation with our OB and the high-risk perinatologist.
There was no plan
for our babies. We felt there must be something
that could be done. The perinatologist told us without compassion,
"Look, I have a whole stack of medical articles on the floor
in my office, but none of them are going to help you."
They took away our ability to try, our option to try, our right to try.
They had told us that some people are trying amniocenteses, but added, "We don't think it works." They knew about
laser surgery by Dr. De Lia, but chose not to tell us. We were robbed.
I was 18 weeks pregnant. I had already been on bed rest
since 8 weeks into my pregnancy from hyperemises, severe
vomiting. I had lost over 20 pounds, suffered the pain
of a fibroid tumor, and diagnosis with twin to twin transfusion
syndrome. I
refused to accept what they were telling me. I was going
to fight. But, there was no Internet. There was no parent to call for
support
and guidance. There were no second opinions. There was
only me, in a house, in a room, in a bed looking out the window as the
seasons changed. I would look up into the sky. The trees
were my friends.
I was not seen for another ultrasound for 4 weeks. At
22 weeks, there had not been much change. My babies were 30%
different in size and my little one was stuck without
fluid. His Doppler had no end diastolic flow. At a previous
appointment, somehow I saw on my chart the word 'Male". I kept this
to myself. During all the time alone, I named my boys. I named my
donor baby Steven James, after my husband. My husband is
the most selfless person in the world, just like his son. I named my
recipient
baby Matthew Steven, gift from God. We already had the
closest relationship one could. I would talk with them, sing to them,
and pray for them. I would sleep with their ultrasound
pictures, stare at the picture of our new house we were waiting to close
on, and dream of Christmas when the nightmare would be
over. I would dream of my boys at the top of the stairs Christmas
morning
in their matching sleepers anxious to come down to open
presents. I would dream, hope, and pray all day and all night. All I had
was time. Time was moving too slowly. I had no idea what
yet was in store for us.
My next ultrasound was at 26 weeks on a Thursday. We
were getting so close to our goal of 28 weeks. We had moved
into our new house. I was living in the dining room. It
was a logical place to be, right next to the kitchen, near a bathroom
and on the first floor. There was a door out to a porch
so the fresh air could come in.
A woman had come to visit to welcome us to Bay Village,
not realizing that I knew every niche in all the sidewalks from
end to end of the seven-mile stretch of the city. Once
she was there, I wanted her to leave. I had been swaying back
and forth from the importance of monitoring movements to pre-term
labor. I had never been pregnant before and did not understand what I
was to
be looking for. I suddenly changed from pre-term labor
worries to how many movements in an hour is a baby supposed to move. I
just wanted her to leave and she finally did. An out of
state friend called me, and I had the same panic to hang up the phone.
There was no concentration within me but for the
movements of my babies. I felt numb.
I had called my OB and specifically asked, "How many
times in an hour is a baby supposed to move?" The woman
was rattled with a lack of words. She told me to chart
the movements for each baby and bring it to the appointment on Thursday.
These
words were foreign to me. Was I supposed to get graph
paper and make a chart? Why was it so complicated? Why was it all upon
me?
It was their job to monitor my babies not mine. The
pressure was monumental and unbearable.
Tuesday night, I was up in the night to use the
restroom. This is always when Steven would make himself known.
He loved the night. He got that from his mommy. As I
slowly got out of bed, I walked to the bathroom. I had had panic all
day.
I could not get comfortable. I could not turn from my
left to my right side. I felt tremendous pressure like a
ballon filled to the max with so much air it was about to burst. I
got into the bathroom and sat down, my left hand never leaving my left
side. I was always 'holding Steven". It
was then that I felt the most profound kick, strong,
determined and isolated. I knew it wasn't good-bye, only "I love you
mommy."
Thursday finally came. At my OB's, he told me he heard
heartbeats at the same rate. He heard my heart rate, but
only one other. He wanted me to get an ultrasound that
afternoon at two to get both heartbeats. He said he was not sure what he
was hearing. I walked out of the exam room; I got a
glimpse of his woman partner in tears. Nothing was said to me. I went
immediately
into the bathroom still holding this yellow legal pad
piece of paper with 'x' marks in two columns. I was crying so hard I got
black ink all over me. "What am I supposed to do with
this stupid piece of paper!" I bent over crying. The doctor said
to go home, have some lunch. The entire time I continued
to seek Steven. "Please Steven, it is mommy, just one more kick,
PLEASE! I love you so much, Please Steven Please!"
I laid on the ultrasound table, yet again. My fingers
were crossed on both hands and my feet were crossed. This was
only the beginning of severe superstition, depression,
and obsessive-compulsive problems. I turned to the screen, just like the
happiest day of
my life months earlier. This time, I only saw one baby.
It was Matthew, my recipient baby. There was his heart. It was beating.
Then, they slowly moved the monitor to my left side,
just like the happiest day of my life, when I knew we would hear my
second
baby's heartbeat. But today, he moved the monitor over
to Steven. The waiting seems like eternity. The silence literally was
killing
me. Without turning to look at me, just peering at the
screen, quot;I am sorry honey, his heart isn't beating anymore."
I became hysterical. They could not keep me down. I
cried, "Maybe his heart will beat again". "No honey….no." And, he shook
his head."
My Grandpa Joe's image was with me. I was a child,
telling my grandmother on her couch, the Friday after Easter as
the ambulance drove away in the middle of the night,
"Maybe his heart will beat again? Maybe he will rise like Jesus in 3
days?" The Friday after Easter since a child, since that
day, I have always called, 'Bad Friday". I cried as I begged
it to be me instead. I had had a good life. I had all
the firsts…starting to walk, my first birthday, riding my bike,
Christmas and
so much more. I would have given my life in a second. I
still would today. It should have been me. It should have been no one.
In agony, Steve and I waited until the ultrasound was
finished. I rushed to the bathroom, walking right past my
OB who had come to confirm his suspicions, and fell to
the floor crying. As I walked back down the corridor bumping side to
side
into each wall. I sat, again, by the window in the
perinatologist's office. This time, I did not one single thing he said.
My beautiful
baby boy had passed away. At that moment, I had too.
How could it be a sunny day again? How could the world not even
take notice? My life was over, I was gone. Steven
and I cried all the way to the car. We sat in that car
in the parking garage for hours unable to move. We were paralyzed with
grief and fear.
Two days later, I went into pre-term labor. It happened
4 times during the next 10 weeks. We were terrorized by the thought
that when Steven passed away, bleeding through their
connecting blood vessels in the placenta could have caused Matthew to go
into shock. He could be killed, I could be killed, or he
could be neurologically damaged. After they got my first episode of
labor under control, they brought a faulty monitor into
my room to hear Matthew's heartbeat. The nurse could not get a heart
beat.
I looked at Steve across the room with that same alarm
knowing it had happened again, Matthew passed away. For the first time
in the pregnancy, I became a tyrant. "Get the doctor in
hear NOW, go get a doctor, tell me what is going on NOW!"
A perinatologist came into the room. He was my doctor's
partner. He fooled with the machine and then said, "Get another
one." The nurse came in with a second machine and we
heard Matthew. I cried and I curled up in the bed. Before I knew it,
the doctor was gone. I told Steve, "Hurry, go find him,
ask him what just happened!" This was the doctor's reply. "You
are going to have to stop thinking about death or you
will end up in a psychiatrist's office, I have seen it happen before. Do
you really want your wife staring out the window for the
rest of her life?"
This doctor destroyed much of Steve and my life. He
stole from us years of being close and getting the help that
we needed. He made us feel there was something wrong
with us because we had the emotions and feelings we did. We just lost
our son
2 days earlier and thought we had just lost our second
son. They also brought that faulty monitor into my room three more times
during that hospital stay. The entire experience with
our doctors and nurses from diagnosis through delivery was appalling and
shameful.
What he should have said is, "I am so deeply sorry. Let
me bring someone in to talk with you, comfort you, help you."
There was absolutely nothing. That remained unchanged
until the birth of my babies 10 weeks later by c-section.
The attitude fluent amongst everyone around us was to
be grateful for the baby we had. Concentrate on the 'other
baby' they said. This too was horrible. It only added to
the feeling that we were not supposed to grieve and that it was not OK
to
cry. All of this at the same time that the status of
being pregnant with twins was taken away. Every single appointment, and I
went
in two times a week now, had to be a new explanation to a
nurse of why I was there. Repeatedly, I had to tell them what happened
to Steven. They should have known. There was never a
compassionate reply after the story was told. Not once. The message
constantly
given to us was, "You have got to concentrate on the
other baby, you have to be strong for the other baby." This was
the worst advice to give. Grief overtakes all
emotions. You don't have to be strong for the other baby, you
already are strong. That is a given. You don't have to
'try'. It is OK to cry. It is OK to lock yourself in your bedroom and
cry for weeks. It is better to be open with your
feelings. Doing so will not hurt the second baby. That baby is grieving
too.
Now, I was trapped with feelings I was told I could not
feel. I was pressured to think only about one baby when I was
pregnant with two. I had to continue the bed rest this
time in a different room of my house. Just one more attempt for others
to try and erase the months I spent in the dining room,
to try to take away the deep sorrow and reminders. But, did they not
stop
to think that Steven was still inside me. At 2 pounds,
do they think he would still not find a way to say, "I am still here!"?
Every time Matthew would move, so would Steven. I would
still feel Steven move. It took me years to be able to
put into words what I felt at these times. It was like
Steven was in a car that was on fire or drowning in the water. I could
see him and he was banging on the windows, "Mommy, mommy
HELP ME!!" I was running and running and running to him,
but could never get close enough to him….but, I had to
watch."
This is what I felt every time I would feel him. This
is what I felt every time I saw him on ultrasound for the
next 10 weeks. This is what I felt all the time, but
there were no words. There were no words, there were no people around,
nor
was it made permissible if there were to say them or
share them.
The delivery was never spoken about or planned for. I
was convinced that I was not going to survive the delivery.
I came very close to writing letters to all my family
and friends. Superstition had sucked me in. I would not eat the food I
ate
when Steven was alive because I thought it would kill
Matthew. I slowly stopped watching TV because all the commercials had to
do with babies. At my last ability to watch, it was the
Home Shopping Network with one hand over part of my eyes so I would not
be able
to see their 'Countdown to Christmas" in the top right
corner of the screen. Christmas was what I lived for, the time the
nightmare
would be over, the time when my babies would be in my
arms. I never gave up on them, once. As I said, my soul went out the
window
the day they told us Steven passed away, September 28,
1989. I watched this program until he spoke of his wife giving birth.
Then, I never watched again. I could only look at
clothing magazines and spent every single waking hour monitoring
Matthew's movements
with a clicker my mom gave me from the hospital where
she worked. Matthew would move, I would click. At the end of the hour, I
would
write down the number. Sometimes, I did not know if it
was the clicking of the clock on the wall, or my clicking that I heard.
It was all a blur.
When my husband would come home from work, his brand
new job that brought us to Cleveland, he would make me dinner,
rub my feet, and tell me animal stories. I would say
over and over, "Superstition does not exist, right?" He would
say, "No, it is not true, it does not exist." I would
say, "He is OK, right?" Steve would say, "He is
OK." If Steve said it, it would be true. But, he had to
say it a lot. And, this is all we said to each other. It would get dark
early
because winter was coming, and we would go to bed. I would drift off
to the sound of clicking.
We went in at 34 weeks for an amnio to check for lung
development for Matthew. The night before, Steve and I filled
with love for Steven, gathered gifts for him thinking we
were going to see him the next day. To get through my bed rest before
September 28, I had needlepointed on my side, Christmas
ornaments and two baby bibs. I worked that night in a panic to finished
Steven's. I was crying because I did not have the right
color thread, but I did it. I had been given matching knitted booties
for them, so took out a pair for Steven. Then, years
before I ever got pregnant, I have bought pictures of Jesus hugging a
lamb.
I bought one for each of my future children and for
Steve and I. So, along with our Eternal love, we had an ornament of
Rudolph,
a baby bib, a pair of booties and the picture of Jesus
and the lamb. Steve put them in a bag in his car.
The amnio came back negative. The news was devastating.
I had gone into labor for the third time. Since 26 weeks, I was
taking medication every 2 hours, 24 hours a day to stop
the contractions. That was also part of the problem to my severe
depression, having
to set an alarm clock every 2 hours. The two occasions
that I overslept were major emotional catastrophes.
We had to go 10 more days. Matthew was doing very well.
My mother brought over the cradle she had as a baby and
I told her to put it away. If I touched it, I know I
would kill Matthew. I felt I had killed Steven and I was going to kill
Matthew.
Something I would do, I was convinced, would end his
life. It was not about trying to protect myself from the devastation of
Matthew passing away and trying not to get attached to
him by buying clothes and the setting up the cradle. I was attached to
both of them the instant I saw the double line on the
pregnancy test. This was actually about the fact that if I touched
the clothes meant for him or touched the cradle; my actions would kill Matthew as they must have killed Steven.
10 days went by. It could have been 10 years if you
went by how it felt. The amnio was done and the result came
in the afternoon at 3PM by phone. Steve answered the
phone and then he screamed in joy. Today, December 7, 1989 would be the
day.
I took a shower and rushed to get dressed. We were
happy but truly paralyzed in shock. They would not let my mother
in to be with me. My emotions were contradicting. As
they prepared me for surgery, I wanted her there. I needed her there.
They should
have done anything for me that I asked. I should have
known that the delivery would not be any more compassionate then the
prior
pregnancy, which had none.
Time had been my enemy, going so slowly with the speed
to allow the syndrome to progress to kill my son Steven.
Then time continued to be my enemy as Matthew struggled
to survive. With a needle in my back to numb me for the c-section, time
showed
it's evil again by reversing it's speed. Now,
it would rob me of the ability to make decisions quickly. But, in
reality,
the evil was not the time, but the disease and the lack
of desire to try and save my babies from the doctors. It only felt like
time was against me, but Satan just added that deception
for me while he influenced the disease to flourish and the doctors to
withdrawal.
A whole room of people yelled for me to hurry and lay
down after the shot. The anesthesia would work within a couple
minutes and I was physically paralyzed from my chest
down. They tied my hands in ropes and I begged them not to. So many
memories
of my childhood raced back to my mind in this whole
experience. I was reminded of getting my tonsils out at the age of about
seven
and being tied to the table. I begged them to take them
off me. God was in the room, because they did.
Within minutes, at 6:10PM, Matthew Steven was born into
a room filled with clapping and laughter. They put him in
a bassinet next to me. I saw a beautiful, blonde curly
haired baby boy and I was in awe. I could not believe that was my son.
Then, at 6:15 PM, Steven James was born into a room
filled with a stark silence, I cried for him, while "Only the Good Die
Young" played on the radio. Why that radio was on in the
first place sickens me.
They brought him into the recovery room. The nurse held
him and told me it was OK to scream. That is all she said.
Now, along with my body, I was paralyzed emotionally. I
stared at her, but nothing could come out. I could not move. I could
not talk. I just wanted her to go away and leave me with
my son. Then, she just walked away with him. The doctor's were rude and
disruptive telling us, "The morgue is here, the morgue
is here." They wanted us to fill out paper work for Steven and
'rap things up quickly'. Not once were any of these
details discussed. We had 10 weeks to talk about them, make these kinds
of decisions.
The delivery could have been compassionate, respecting
the birth of both of my twins and honoring them both.
I did not feel joy for Matthew, only relief. It was
finally over. I was off the hook. I was not responsible anymore.
It never should have been my responsibility though.
Where were the doctors? Where were the social workers, the
psychiatrists,
and any caregivers that cared? Why did they forget why
they entered there profession? All I know is that they had, they had
forgotten.
They may have never had those intentions of truly
helping another human been and saving life to begin with.
They put me in a room with another new mother who was
breastfeeding her baby. The moment I saw her and saw how happy
she was, I knew something was wrong. I was so
emotionally gone, that I knew something was wrong, but I did not know
what. I turned
to Steve and said, "I need to see him again, and I want
my own room." I remember him taking me seriously and immediately
said, "OK," standing up, being the best husband and
father in the world and went to make that happen. Because of him,
I got to see my son and kiss every part of him.
They brought Steven into our room, but they never
brought Matthew in. It was always one baby in, one baby out which
only added to my mental confusion. I deserved a lifetime
with my babies. I at least deserved to see and hold them together as
my twins, my beautiful baby boys that I had dreamed of
my whole life. Just another horrific mistake made by unfeeling people.
We only had a Polaroid camera. I have six pictures. I
touched and kissed every part of him. I held him and closed
my eyes. I told him that I would always love him
forever, eternal. I made a promise to him and Matthew that they would be
known and remembered
and I would find the answers. I never said good-bye, only I love
you. Just like Steven that brisk September night.
December 7, 1989, two little babies were born. Matthew
Steven and Steven James. Because of these two little boys, the
fight against twin to twin transfusion syndrome began.
The Twin to Twin Transfusion Syndrome Foundation began. A promise kept.
Mary Slaman-Forsythe,
Mommy, Founder and President
Important Message:
In the year following my
delivery, I came to learn of laser surgery
by Dr. De Lia. Dr. De Lia is the pioneer of laser
surgery and began his research in 1983. I went to see my OB because I
had
researched TTTS on my own and needed to be told that my
twins are identical. I needed confirmation that all the pieces of the
puzzle I had acquired could be put together with this
conclusion. I brought a tape recorder with me to have those words put on
tape.
This was something Matthew deserved.
This appointment was not easy for me. In fact, it was
one of the most difficult and scary experiences
of my life. I spent over 3 hours in his office as my
entire body shook with nerves. But, I had to stand up for Matthew and
Steven.
Maybe I was just a fleeting moment in the lives of my
doctors, but to us, this was our lives and our lives without Steven. I
wasn't going to just let that happen.
His response to everything I said was, "I don't know."
And, "I don't remember."
He went on to say, "There is nobody quite like you,
Mary" in a degrading tone. I began to speak about laser surgery and
he quickly replied, "How did you learn about that?" I
said, "You mean you knew about it, but you didn't tell
me!"? He said, "I don't have to tell you about something
experimental." I said, "That's illegal." He said,
"No, it's not." Then, I said, "Then, it is highly
unethical." He looked right at me and said, "If another
woman walked in my office tomorrow with twin to twin
transfusion syndrome, I would not tell her either."
I was filled with disgust. This man allowed the
syndrome to simply take my son away. He did nothing to stop it. He took
my son. He took my daughter-in law. He took
my grandchildren. He took generations, and he did not
even hesitate one bit for he would do it again the next day with someone
else.
This type of behavior still exists today. Do not fall
into the lie.
It took 10 years after this meeting for another woman in Cleveland to go on to have laser surgery. Nothing
had changed with this treatment in those
10 years but the doctor's opinions of it. My son would
be here today if only I had known what to do. For the rest of my life
I will fight this evil disease and I will reveal the
lies and deceit much of the medical community displays when it comes to
twin to twin transfusion syndrome. Do not let yourself
be sucked into them. Your babies can make it. They are normal and
healthy.
You have to fight for them both. Do not give up. You
deserve the right to try. I am giving it to you.
Official TTTS Foundation Events
Copyright © 1997-2012 The Twin To Twin Transfusion Syndrome Foundation. All Rights Reserved
411 Longbeach Parkway, Bay Village, Ohio 44140 USA | 800-815-9211 | www.tttsfoundation.org
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