“You don’t know, do you?” the ultrasound technician asked my wife, Melissa, and I in early 2004. “You’re having twins.”
I want to say I handled this news with my usual flatness and that I produced a list of pertinent and probing questions for the technician (I’ve always prided myself on being able to spot early, and then roll with, the many sucker punches life has thrown at me). But I didn’t; I didn’t hear a single word the fellow said after hearing “twins,” and my brain went abruptly blank. My wife later said my face turned white as a sheet; all I know is that I went clammy all over, and I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing because I could not speak (anyone who knows me knows I always have a sarcastic comment or topic-appropriate quip to toss into the mix). The word “twins” echoed around in my head and circled back each time the previous echo had started to fade. And my ears suddenly started ringing louder than they did following that one Rush concert when I forgot to bring earplugs.
The scene, for me, instantly turned into a silent, super-slo-mo movie. I saw the technician looking at me, his lips moving to form what I can only assume were words (doubtlessly communicating important information to us); I saw Melissa looking at me, her lips moving as if forming words (doubtlessly trying to get me to start breathing again). But the remainder of the appointment played out in complete silence, with nary a subtitle in sight.
My hearing didn’t start working again until I climbed into my car alone (Melissa and I had met at the office after work so had brought our own vehicles) and started the engine. Then the pendulum abruptly swung the other direction: Not only was I finally breathing again, but I was borderline hyperventilating (a new experience). Not only was my hearing working again, but it was hyper-acute; I swore my car was making noises that I just knew would be really expensive to repair (turned out it was all in my imagination). And I had no problem speaking again: The entire drive home I spent humming to myself, Asperger style, “Ohgawd, ohgawd, ohgawd…” And my brain was finally working again: The only image I saw in my head were dollar signs, with madly flapping wings on their (green) backs, soaring out of my wallet (they may have been laughing at me too; I can’t be sure). And I sensed they were flying away twice as fast as I would ever be able to cram new ones into that wallet.
When I pulled into the drive, my wife was already standing outside.
“I’m so glad to see you,” she half-chuckled. “I was afraid you would just keep driving.”
“Mexico is nice this time of year,” I said after finding the majority of my sense of humor again. “I don’t know that I’m ready for this, but I think I’m ready to try. Oh God.”
The purpose of this blog ("In Stereo," the reason for the title will become apparent) is for me to share my own experiences as a father of twins (identical boys, now 7 years old), as well as sharing the experiences and insights of my network of other fathers of twins, so that fathers of twins won’t repeat my mistakes; mostly, it’s so that other twin fathers will realize they’re not alone.
If you have any questions or experiences you'd like to share, feel free to add a comment below, or simply e-mail me at instereoblog@yahoo.com
The lesson: Even if it’s completely unexpected news, take the time you need to process it, and process it however you’re able. Then man up.
