As the result of a barely failed 1-hour glucose test in December I underwent the dreaded 4-hour version, and failed. Note: I passed the initial glucose test when pregnant with Callie with flying colors, so to fail - especially as a toxic perfectionist and Type A personality - felt like the biggest letdown possible. Later I learned that many ‘multiple’ pregnancies (twins, triplets, etc.) result in gestational diabetes (GD) due to the presence of an extra placenta (when applicable, as hormones from the placenta make insulin less effective, leading to high blood sugar), so that made me feel marginally less like a failure. However, after my diagnosis, UK also failed me, leaving me for 10 days with absolutely no further direction, action steps, or resources, until I finally reached out (via MyChart) to say “if something happens to my babies as a result of your negligence and failure to provide appropriate care, we will have a serious problem.” Nothing moves the needle like a paper trail! Upon receiving my ‘training’ and testing kit/supplies, it was quickly determined that my GD was classified as A1, i.e. controllable by diet and exercise. I never once tested high and after about two weeks was permitted to stop testing.
January 17
In the midst of the troubling time waiting for someone to treat my GD, I had a routine ultrasound, one that my mom planned to attend, as she had once when I was pregnant with Callie. Having had MANY ultrasounds by this point, I could tell the tech saw something they either didn’t like or wanted a better look at, because they were hyper-focused on one area. Unfortunately I was right, and upon completion, I was sent to another area of the hospital for a high-risk ultrasound. Here Baby B was discovered to have ascites, or “accumulation of fluid in a baby's abdomen during pregnancy, which can be an isolated finding or part of hydrops fetalis (widespread fluid buildup).” During my next conversation with my OB she openly scolded the high risk doctor who read my results and delivered them to me, stating they never should have planted the seed of ‘hydrops’ aloud. Because what did I do? Googled it right away, of course. And hydrops is frequently fatal. I received this information alone, without Bennett or my mom by my side, and was ordered to come back seven days later for a repeat ultrasound. Over that week we had a belated Friendsgiving gathering, a baby sprinkle, a pregnancy massage, and a combined Clark family birthday dinner. By the grace of God, the repeat ultrasound revealed that the ascites had ‘resolved itself’ and Baby B was in the clear. That night we observed Bennett’s birthday with a progressive celebration and something extra to celebrate!
February 19
Callie and I baked pumpkin chocolate chip cookies, none the wiser that it was the last night of life as we knew it.
February 20
Labor began quite by surprise around 7:30 a.m. The Conns were on notice and dropped everything to get Callie to school while Bennett and I rushed to UK Hospital. Fun fact: Unbelievably, the Conn’s own son and daughter-in-law had been in labor since the day before, and their little boy was born later that afternoon! We were very underwhelmed by the lack of support received upon arrival at UK (Callie was born at Baptist Health) - i.e. no wheelchairs, no directional signage, no one staffed at the help desk to give direction - so while Bennett rushed around trying to get any kind of help at all, I painstakingly made my way toward the elevator that I vaguely remembered being told to seek out in the event of spontaneous labor. Seeing as my labor was advancing rapidly I was ushered into the triage room adjacent to check-in, where it took nearly 45 torturous minutes to have my epidural administered, after which I was measured and discovered to be dilated to 8cm. Fun fact: Something similar unfolded during Callie’s labor, and post-epidural I was 9cm. After that it was smooth sailing! Baby A - eventually named Remington (“Remi”) Helm Clark - made her world debut without incident at 10:35 a.m., and I got to hold her for a few minutes. Baby B wasn’t ready to be born yet, but they said if I had the energy to push I should go ahead, so her water was broken. In the midst of pushing her cord got wrapped around her neck, so while they were preparing to vacuum her, once they saw that they abandoned the vacuum and got her out promptly. 21 minutes after her sister, Rooney (“Roo”) Hayden Clark, was born at 10:56 a.m. She was battered and bruised, to put it mildly, with an APGAR score of 2, and ultimately I wasn’t allowed to hold her until the following day. Both girls were immediately admitted to the Kentucky Children’s Hospital (KCH) NICU due to their age (34 weeks, 6 days). We know God’s hand was guiding the timing of their birth, because had they been born even one day later, they would have been admitted to ‘general population’ and started receiving standard care, whereas in the NICU, babies are not fed for the first 24 hours of life and receive a ‘care’ every 3 hours; this process is entails various vitals and measurements, and watching for specific markers and behaviors. One such care is taking belly measurements to monitor for distention.
February 21
At 5:37 a.m. Baby A was discovered to have free air in her belly, indicating a bowel perforation, and underwent ostomy surgery soon after. The girls were as-yet unnamed, and Bennett didn’t want her going into surgery nameless, making this event the catalyst for finalizing their names then deciding who was who. At 9:04 a.m., while Remi was in surgery, Baby B (now known as Roo) was discovered to have free air in her belly - another bowel perforation - and underwent ostomy surgery not long after Remi emerged. Remi’s operation - performed by the Chief of Surgery - was brutal and she spent a couple days in triage recovering. Roo’s surgeon - a different one - had a strong hunch that the perforations would be in similar locations, and as result her surgery was less invasive with a somewhat easier recovery. Sure enough, the colon defects were anatomically identical, an unheard-of anomaly, and thought to be the result of either Cystic Fibrosis (CF) or Hirschsprung’s Disease. Here again, I received news of the potential CF alone, without Bennett or any family members present. After an excruciating length of time waiting for the results of repeat state screens, the girls tested negative for both, and their cases remain a medical mystery to this day, with the cause being informally diagnosed as ‘short bowel.’ They each had/have a gnarly and upsetting surgical scar – similar, but not identical. I was discharged from the hospital on February 23. It never once occurred to me that I would go home from the hospital without my babies, and even if it had, no one could have prepared me for the feelings of guilt, abandonment, helplessness, and deep sadness that would result.
Sometime in-between
Roo developed stridor (noisy breathing) due to laryngomalacia (floppy airway) and a paralyzed vocal cord, initially thought to be the result of intubation at birth, but that has never been proven or confirmed. In fact, I have videos of her crying at full volume at 5 days old, when the twins met for the first time. Not long after, Roo was discovered to have a large VSD – Ventricular Septal Defect – or hole in her heart. We were told with 99% certainty that it would require open heart surgery to be repaired, as it was not the kind that would close on its own due to its location and size. The surgeons were hopeful that Roo would be able to ‘get by’ until at least 6 months of age, allowing her heart time to grow and therefore be easier to work on. Meanwhile, Bennett and I fell into an automatic routine of dropping Callie off at school then heading straight to the NICU, where we would inevitably spend the next 8 hours, participating in morning rounds and consultations all throughout the day, along with innumerable tests, consultations, procedures, and everything in-between. After a couple weeks Bennett had to turn his attention to accumulating work, leaving me to shoulder the majority of the medical goings-on alone (like the CF scare). It was overwhelming, to say the least, and I lived in constant fear of what could possibly happen next. I became well-versed regarding the routines and players in the NICU, slowly piecing together that ecosystem and its connectedness within and adjacent to the larger hospital and clinic environments. We also became acutely aware that despite everything, we were the ‘luckiest’ family in the NICU, because our girls’ stays were slowly but surely drawing to a close; there was a light, however dim, at the end of their tunnel. We observed many families who were not so fortunate, whose children had been living in the NICU for months (or over a year, in one case) - many children who, for all intents and purposes, had been ‘abandoned’ there simply because their families had to go back to work and we no longer afforded the flexibility to be there round the clock. There are two or three designated twin rooms in the NICU, however we were never assigned to them, as they were being occupied by ‘long-term tenants’ with no anticipated discharge in sight. We were told something like 78% of parents emerge from their NICU experiences with some degree of PTSD, and I’m a living testament to that. It’s such an important part of our story but also incredibly triggering.
March 11
Callie remained an ‘only child’ until Remi came home from the NICU with her stoma, whereupon Bennett and I quickly honed our ostomy bag changing skills, which we had received brief training and practice with in the NICU. This was an arduous, multi-step process taking place every few days, lasting up to 15 minutes (until we got more confident), and often requiring immediate clothes laundering. As the girls grew the bags would only stay on for a day, if that, making the traumatizing bag changes more and more frequent. The volume and variety of supplies involved were so numerous that our dining room was essentially converted to a makeshift ‘OR.’ Poor Callie was notpermitted to handle her sister(s) without extreme oversight a caution, lest we create an unnecessary bag rupturing scenario.
March 15
Boone and Belle (our four-legged fur children) went to live with Margaret Riley temporarily. With the reality of complicated and messy medical scenarios and supplies, not to mention risk of infection, this was the greatest gift – for us and them. A heart-wrenching decision to be sure, but the correct one.
March 18
Roo came home from the NICU with her stoma, having acclimated to taking bottles by mouth exactly one week after Remi, and Callie got to meet her second sister. Minus Boone and Belle, our family was reunited.
April 16
Both girls were admitted to UK for ostomy reversal surgeries with the expectation of two-night stays. Naturally, Bennett and I intended to come home after the surgeries to be with Callie. Instead, we were asked by the nurses to “come up with a schedule” that would allow at least one of us to be there around the clock, because they “weren’t adequately staffed to care for twins.” We told them, respectfully, that we had another child at home and their staffing issue was not our burden to bear, but if they felt ill-equipped to care for our children that we should speak to the administration about it. That silenced them for a few hours, after which they produced two copies of a document entitled “Behavioral Expectations” (the likes of which my hospital employee friends have never seen or heard of) and asked us to sign them, which we did, then proceeded to go home and be with Callie.
April 18
Remi came home from the hospital, good as new. Roo’s release was delayed due to an oral aversion developed during her stay. After several days of declining interest in taking bottles by mouth, it was decided that she would once again (as both girls did in the NICU) receive a nasogastric (NG) feeding tube. Bennett and I visited Roo daily, and I spent the night with her on Easter eve.
April 22
Roo came home from the hospital with the NG tube and begin weekly feeding therapy with a speech therapist. After ceremoniously donating and otherwise purging our ostomy supplies, Bennett and I were thrust into a brand new world of tools and terminology, including the tubes themselves, IV pole, enteral bags, pump, and the process of administering feedings while simultaneously trying to troubleshoot and overcome the oral aversion. Many techniques and bottles were experimented with, to no avail. A huge component of this phase centered around what to do when the tube inevitably dislodged, which could happen as the result of a hard sneeze or Roo pulling at it; either scenario posed significant risk, and to mitigate it, we kept her hands in mittens 24/7. However when it did have to be replaced, we had to drop everything and either go to the Pediatric Sedation Unit (if it happened Monday-Friday during business hours) or the Peds ER (if it happened at night or on the weekend). We particularly grew to dread the ER, as it always took 2-4 HOURS for the start-to-finish ‘process.’
May 8
The night nurse – Pim – began working 9 hours overnight 5 days/week in our home. She was such a blessing, allowing us to sleep uninterrupted while assuring both girls were receiving round the clock attention and tender loving care. She quickly became part of our family and Callie cherished her infrequent, brief encounters with Pim. Unfortunately she was not permitted to replace the feeding tube, much to our chagrin.
May 16
Callie performed to “It’s Oh So Quiet” in the LFUCG spring dance recital at Lexington Opera House.
May 19
Maple Tree Marketing extended my maternity leave an additional 7 weeks. This was not only a huge blessing but also an essential need, as medical care and advocacy are full time jobs and I was spending most of my waking hours researching, playing telephone between providers, and shuttling Roo between cardio, ENT, GI, and speech therapy appointments.
End of May
Remi, Callie, and Morgan attended the annual family reunion in Alabama; Bennett and Roo hung back; it was too risky to take her far from her care providers.
May 30
Community Montessori School (CMS) adjourned for the summer, bringing an end to Callie’s first (and only) year in the Toddler classroom.
June 9/Early Summer
Callie started a 7-week school camp, which she loved, as she was joined by many of her former (and future) classmates. She also began taking private swimming lessons and made good progress, but just as importantly, had a lot of fun and relished the 1:1 attention from her instructor.
July 7
I returned to work and the twins’ nanny, Haven, began.
July 21
I was through getting the runaround and flew the red flag, contacting every single provider that had been integral to Roo’s care to-date (a dozen or so). I wanted new eyes on her case. As a result, Roo began being seen by Complex Care, a KCH clinic providing medical and development follow-up care for infants with medical complexity. Why this had never been offered to us before escaped me, but upon inquiring as much, I was told that neither girl was ‘complex enough’ to qualify. [insert major eye roll here] Funnily enough, we didn’t get any new faces - technically - because unbeknownst to us all, a long-time family friend heads up Conplex Care and was assigned to Roo’s case, then several of the ‘OGs’ from the NICU resurfaced.
July 28
Callie turned 3 with a ‘purple party!’
July 30
Roo miraculously started taking bottles by mouth while I was in Holland, MI for work. Surprise! Or not? Interesting timing given the introduction of Conplex Care to our regimen.
August 7
Following a week of successful bottle feeds, we were permitted to remove Roo’s feeding tube, the last of many!
August 19
Callie began a new school year at CMS in the Primary classroom, which is comprised of children ages 3-6.
September 1
Bennett formally launched Burnt Tavern Bourbon, the first release from William Berkele Distillery, garnering much positive attention from the media and welcome reception from bourbon enthusiasts across the country. The product immediately began winning awards and accolades, including Best Straight Kentucky Bourbon of the Year by USA Spirits Ratings.
September 6
I turned 40!
September 12
Roo had a cardio appointment during which we were told her VSD hadn’t changed; this was good, because it meant she was thriving despite it, but growth restriction was still a very real concern. Ultimately the team felt confident enough in her progress to push her next appointment to February, whereas up until that point she’d been seen monthly.
September 25
The night nurse worked her final shift, as her presence was no longer medically necessary, signaling the girls’ graduation from home healthcare.
Late September/Early October
Our first family trip, a drive to Sandestin and Shalimar – chaotic but full of sweet memories.
October 23
Remi received her Cranial Remolding helmet to correct her skull shape, a condition developed in utero, which is typical of twins. She is slated to have it for approximately 12 weeks and wears it 23 hours/day. It doesn’t bother her a bit!
November 3
Roo was seen by Complex Care for the final time, having demonstrated enough progress to ‘graduate.’
Present-Day
Burnt Tavern Bourbon continues to gain momentum in its inaugural holiday sales season; check out burnttavernbourbon.com for shipping and store location details. On December 14 Callie performed “Christmas Island” (donning a lei and hula skirt) in the LFUCG winter dance recital. CMS adjourned for winter break on December 19, and we have continued to enjoy our first holiday season as a family of five. We look forward to welcoming Boone and Belle home in January and beginning our life as a complete family for the very first time. Remi should get her helmet off sometime in January, provided that the device has done its job. Roo will see her cardiology team in February, and we are hopeful they’ll tell us that she’s thriving and surgery is still highly unlikely. Her vocal cord paralysis could take up to 18 months to resolve; she continues to grow louder with time, which is a promising sign, but it’s still a wait-and-see situation. Remi and Roo have an appointment with the NICU Grad Clinic in February, during which they’ll undergo Bayley (BSID) testing to assess and/or monitor their risk for developmental delays or disorders. This is a standard procedure about which we have no concerns; both girls are growing beautifully and are nearly on-par with their peers of similar chronological age. Both girls are clapping, waving, ‘sprouting’ teeth left and right, sitting up, crawling (Remi prefers only to Army crawl), chattering, standing (Roo on her own, unassisted!), and eating literally whatever we will give them. They have healthy appetites and nothing appears to be off limits.
Real Talk
Having infant twins and a toddler simultaneously is hard - extremely hard. We’ve got double the love, blessings, laughs, cuddles, and milestones, but half the bandwidth. This year has tested our marriage, friendships, family dynamics, patience, sanity, and everything in-between. To be frank, with twins we got more than we bargained for and we need our village, but they don’t always show up the way we need them to. That’s not to say they don’t show up, because they do when called upon, without fail. I guess what we need is proactive support, because it’s daunting always asking when we need [___________], and we need [___________] more than ever before. Whatever [___________] is, we need it! We need people to meet us where we are, which for the most part, they have! We need people to lower their expectations of us and task us with less, and for the most part, they have! We need people to step up and say “You do [___________]. Go. We’ve got this.” And they haven’t. But I get it, twins plus a toddler are intimidating! That’s the world I live in on the daily, no one knows how challenging that is more than I do. We need people to pour into our cups, because guess what? Then we’ve got something to give back. You can’t pour from an empty cup. I’m not sure what the point of putting this on the record is, other than catharsis. And if that’s all that comes of it, that’s enough for me. Call it writing therapy.
All this, AND I’m still in the throes of postpartum. That alone is, well, if you’ve had a baby you know! It’s rough and it’s lasting. At least this time around I didn’t have the ‘bandwidth’ for postpartum depression, there was literally no emotion leftover with everything else happening.
Want to know something weird that plagues me for reasons unknown? I have hundreds - more likely thousands - of pictures that will never get posted or see the light of day dating from February-September. And I think part of that is a manifestation of my PTSD. I think it’s self-preservation. I don’t think I can look at those pictures and not instantly be transported back to the fear and not knowing. The constant anxiety. The endless questions without answers. Therr are so many sweet memories in there, memories I want to share and reflect on, but I can’t have one without the other.
Cheers to health and happiness in 2026!
