I like to start our story when life felt normal or at least our version of normal. My husband and I had been together since we were just 18. We got married young and had already spent three years building our life as a married couple. We had our first child, a healthy baby boy named Noah, on October 19, 2016. He was perfect in every way.
Courtesy of Kayla I.
When Noah was around 18 months old, we made the choice to try for another child.
We got pregnant quickly, and during the ultrasound, the tech smiled and said, “There’s one baby… wait… there’s two.” Twins. I was in shock. My husband was over the moon, and everything seemed to be going well. We soon learned we were having twin girls.
Courtesy of Kayla Ibarra
But on September 23, 2018, everything changed. I was 21 weeks and 5 days pregnant when I noticed a little pink spotting. I called my midwife, who asked me to get checked just to be safe. I went to the hospital and sat in triage for hours. I started feeling contractions, but I brushed them off, thinking they were just Braxton Hicks.
When I mentioned to the nurses that I wasn’t feeling okay, they admitted they had completely forgotten I was in the room.
Courtesy of Kayla Ibarra
Eventually, I was taken for an ultrasound. As I stood up afterward, my water broke. A doctor confirmed it. I asked what would happen to my daughters, and she coldly said, “They will be born today and they will die.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My family arrived, and everyone was crying. The doctor kept saying there was nothing they could do.
Courtesy of Dana Marie Photography
We begged them to call another hospital, one known for helping babies born as early as 24 weeks, but the doctor refused. She even denied me medication that could help the babies’ development. I was heartbroken, angry, and scared.
Courtesy of Kayla Ibarra
I prayed. I told God how angry I was. Then suddenly, my labor stopped. The doctor reluctantly agreed to leave me alone for now. For four days, I stayed in the hospital, unable to move much, still pleading with them to help. They continued to say no.
Then, on September 27, labor started again. Just when I felt all hope was gone, a new doctor came in. He had read my chart and promised to call hospitals to find help. Within minutes, he returned saying two hospitals agreed to take me. We were rushed to London, Ontario.
There, Luna was born first alive and crying. Ema followed minutes later, also crying. They were both tiny but strong. We were told we might only have 24 hours, but they fought hard.
Courtesy of Kayla Ibarra
Today, they are thriving. They came home before their due date and are now healthy little girls. Our journey changed us forever. Today, we raise our voices for the tiny fighters born at just 22 weeks.
They can live. Luna and Ema are living proof.
