'Here we were, facing the hardest decision of our lives'

I struggled with infertility for two years, and it was with great joy I learned I was pregnant with the help of a reproductive endocrinologist and IVF in September 2009.

Three weeks later, I was surprised to learn I was expecting triplets. I remember the doctor's words clearly: "I'm sorry, I swear I only put in two!"

I didn't understand why he was sorry; I felt blessed, excited and maybe a bit scared of the future.

Everything went along perfectly - frequent visits to a maternal/fetal medicine specialist, ultrasounds, lab work - until, suddenly, it didn't.

At 24 weeks, we learned one of the identical twin boys I was carrying was significantly smaller than his brother and sister. Subsequent testing revealed issues with the blood flow, a perilous syndrome unique to identical twins.

The doctor told me that, when they see twins in this condition, they usually plan an immediate C-section. But my boys had a fraternal sister who was not affected by this issue, and birth at 24 weeks was awfully early and risky for her, as well, especially since she wasn't at any risk from the syndrome.

I was checked into the hospital, so scared. Even though I knew a triplet pregnancy was risky, I had never really thought anything would go wrong. Here we were, facing the hardest decision of our lives - take all the babies out immediately, even though they were all so little and at so much risk (24 weeks is considered the cusp of survival); or wait, be monitored, and try to give them all some more time to get bigger and stronger. We chose the latter.

I stayed in the hospital for a week, spending hours with nurses listening to the gallop of my three babies' heartbeats. And praying.

I was given a choice to stay in the hospital or go home on bed rest and be monitored. Still thinking everything would work out OK, I chose to go home. I came back in the next day and two days after that for monitoring. Each time we heard the heartbeats, and we began to grow optimistic again that we would eventually bring home our three babies. Unable to leave the house, though, we had to cancel our much-awaited and looked-forward-to baby shower. (I've never had another.)

And then came Monday, three days later. My babies were at exactly 26 weeks, six months, gestation. While being monitored at the hospital, watching the blood flow Doppler ultrasound for Robbie, the color disappeared. His heart had stopped beating. He had died before our eyes. And everything, held together by a string, fell apart. I was again hooked up to machines in a flurry of activity. Robbie's twin, Jake, seemed to be in distress following the death of his brother.

Another decision: Have a C-section now, to try to save Jake and bring into the world their sister, who although perfectly healthy, would face a one in five chance of not making it herself due to extreme prematurity; or wait, almost certainly lose Jake, and give Ginger more time to grow bigger and stronger inside.

We chose the former. Our triplets were born around 6 p.m. Monday, March 1. Ginger came first, a healthy pink and mewling. Robbie was next, and lastly, came Jake, quiet and pale.

They all fought so hard for him, but he didn't make it, either.

When the fight was over, the doctor gave him to me to hold for his last moments on Earth, and he went to join his brother. On that day, not only did I lose my sons, but I lost God as I understood him.

We spent 100 days with Ginger in the shelter of the neonatal intensive care unit as she faced ups and downs, and showed more and more of her fighting and temperamental spirit. Gradually, so gradually, she grew bigger and stronger from her birth weight of 2 pounds, 3 ounces.

We mourned and grieved and missed our boys every day we stepped into the hospital to be with her ­- and it was every day, with the exception of the boys' funeral. I know it was a beautiful service, but I barely remember any of it. I couldn't believe this was the life I now faced, a new life not as a mom of three healthy triplets but as a bereaved mom of one surviving triplet.

It took time, but Ginger continued to grow and even thrive. Two years later, Ginger was "promoted" to big sister, as we welcomed Amelia Rose into the world. Two-year-old Ginger's first sentence upon meeting Amelia was, "My baby!"

My experience with motherhood has been a dichotomy of joy and sorrow, from the light of Ginger saying, 'I love you, Mom' and the everyday ups and downs of parenting, to the shadows of spending Mother's Day at the cemetery, adding small mementoes near the boys' headstone, and the ache, the hole, in my heart, that will always be there.

I hope I may help others feel less alone through sharing my experience. And I will never again take anything for granted.

My girls are the joy that lives in my soul hand-in-hand with the sorrow of the loss of my boys. Robbie and Jake, every bit as much as Ginger and Amelia, make me a mom. I was blessed to carry all three of my triplets together, and I love my boys as I miss and grieve for them. Thank you for the opportunity to share our story. This is why we walk.