For those who are new to my story, my name is Melissa Mabon, and I am sharing a deeply personal journey that has been years in the making. My life with my husband Dave in North Liberty is filled with the love of our amazing boys, Jake and Brady, and the memory of our twin girls, Cora & Carly, whom my eldest affectionately calls “our butterflies,” our Angels. As a Neonatal ICU (NICU) nurse at the University of Iowa Children’s Hospital, I witness miracles daily, but September 2nd, 2011, brought a different kind of miracle, our own bittersweet miracle. “Some people only dream of miracles…on that day, we held 2 of them in our arms.” This is their story.
Our journey to parenthood began with our first son, Jake, a relatively “run of the mill” pregnancy after some initial difficulties conceiving. Then, as Jake turned one in April 2011, we were surprised and delighted to find out we were expecting again, ready to navigate the “normal” pregnancy path once more.
In early May, at around 5 or 6 weeks pregnant, a day at work took an unexpected turn. Feeling unwell, I contacted my OB at UIHC and scheduled a quick ultrasound during my break. Understanding the early stage of pregnancy, my doctor reminded me that a scan at this point would only confirm a few things. As I lay on the ultrasound table, my only prayer was to ensure I wasn’t miscarrying. Then, the ultrasound technician’s face lit up with a big smile. Surely, this couldn’t mean anything terribly wrong, could it? I asked her about her smile, and her words changed everything. “There are 5 babies, Melissa.”
Silence filled the room.
“What do you mean 5 babies? I don’t even know the medical term for that because it doesn’t happen naturally, right?”
But it does, and the term is Quintuplets.
Before returning to my shift in the NICU, still reeling from the shock of discovering I was pregnant with 5 babies, I was advised to speak with a High-Risk OB. Alone in the waiting room, the weight of the news sinking in, I called my twin sister.
Through tears, I managed to utter, “Megan, there are 5 of them.”
“Five what?” she replied, confused.
“Five babies, Megan. What am I supposed to do?” We both cried, trying to reassure each other that somehow, it would be okay.
My husband Dave’s reaction was initially laughter when I called him – a natural response given my usual humorous nature – until he heard the undeniable pain, confusion, and tears in my voice. Doctors suggested another ultrasound in two weeks, mentioning the high likelihood of natural attrition at this stage. Was this good news? I wasn’t sure. I returned to work in disbelief, my mind racing. This was far from the pregnancy I had envisioned.
Alt text: Ultrasound image showing five sacs, representing the initial discovery of quintuplets during Melissa’s early pregnancy scan.
Between 7 and 8 weeks, Dave and I returned for another ultrasound, the anticipation heavy in the air. As the UIHC team scanned, smiles and laughter filled the room again. Looking back, I realize they were witnessing a true medical marvel. Then, the technician surprised us yet again. “Well, there aren’t 5 babies anymore. There are SIX.” Yes, sextuplets. One of the eggs had split, creating an identical set of twins. There they were, 6 tiny heartbeats on the screen. Dave and I were speechless, exchanging bewildered glances.
Another meeting with the doctors followed. The message remained the same: the chances of all six surviving past this point were very low. Options were discussed, but another scan was scheduled in two weeks. “How am I supposed to just keep waiting?” I wondered, but somehow, we did. At the 10-week ultrasound, all six tiny babies were still there, healthy and resilient.
At this point, a crucial decision had to be made. Carrying sextuplets posed extreme risks to both my health and the babies. Bed rest, numerous health complications, and extremely premature birth were near certainties. As a NICU nurse, I was acutely aware of the immense challenges and potential complications facing babies born so early.
The alternative was selective reduction, traveling to Tampa, Florida, to reduce the pregnancy to twins. This involved selectively choosing the healthiest fetuses in the most favorable locations for the procedure. However, this option also carried risks, including an increased chance of miscarriage for the remaining fetuses. We were faced with choosing between two incredibly difficult paths, each with uncertain outcomes for my health and the health of our future children.
There was no path that guaranteed certainty, no choice that felt completely right. We had to weigh the information, make the most informed decision we could, and move forward. After what felt like endless sleepless nights filled with “why us?”, we made the agonizing choice we believed was best for everyone involved. We opted for fetal reduction. The procedure was scheduled after the 12-week ultrasound, and the waiting period was agonizing.
The 12-week ultrasound brought another surprise – all 6 babies were still healthy. The medical team would select the fetuses in the most suitable locations for the procedure. On June 24th, 2011, at 13 weeks pregnant with six healthy babies, Dave and I traveled to Tampa. I underwent the fetal reduction, one of the most physically and emotionally challenging experiences of my life. We went into the hospital pregnant with sextuplets and left pregnant with twins. I resolved not to dwell on judgment, trusting we had made the most loving decision possible from two incredibly difficult and medically uncertain options. I held onto this truth: “It was through love that my husband and I conceived, and it was WITH love that we reduced. It is the love, not the loss that we choose to hold on to.”
Nearly three months later, after 12 doctor’s appointments and 10 ultrasounds, we learned our twins were healthy baby girls. On the morning of September 2nd, I felt increasingly unwell. After all the pregnancy complexities, “normal” was hard to define. As my condition worsened, I went to Labor and Delivery at 7 a.m. I was bleeding and having contractions, but the cause was unclear. From there, we went to my High-Risk appointment where another ultrasound provided no answers.
Ordered home to rest, I knew I would be back. Something felt profoundly wrong. Dave and I returned home, dropped our son at daycare, but after an hour of trying to rest, I knew we had to go back to the hospital. Hugging Dave on the stairs, I was overcome with terror. At only 22 and 5/7 weeks pregnant, I knew the survival rate for babies born before 23 weeks was tragically low. He reassured me it would be okay.
We arrived at the hospital around 1:00 p.m. At 4:03 and 4:05 p.m., our twin girls, Cora & Carly, were born. Minutes later, in our arms, our two precious daughters began their journey to a place beyond our earthly understanding.
Alt text: A tender photo of baby Cora and Carly, capturing their delicate features shortly after birth, showcasing their beauty despite their prematurity.
They were beautiful baby girls, fought for and loved fiercely. I am eternally grateful for them and for the fact that their birth at such an early gestation ultimately removed the burden of decision-making from our hands. Their strength, gentleness, and courage in making their own journey are a profound gift. I am grateful for who they were and who I have become because of them. They have made me a better mother to my two boys, a better wife, a better friend, a more compassionate NICU nurse, and someone who truly believes in miracles and angels. We call them our butterflies, a symbol of their delicate beauty and fleeting presence. Because of Cora and Carly, I am forever changed, and I embrace that transformation. Life is to be lived in moments, cherished and embraced as if there is no tomorrow. I have found beauty within brokenness.
“An Angel in the book of life wrote down our baby’s birth and whispered as she closed the book…Too beautiful for Earth.”
Today, Cora and Carly would be celebrating 4 years. Thank you for allowing me to share their story. It means the world to me. Happy Birthday, sweet girls.
Alt text: Heartfelt image of Cora and Carly’s footprints, a lasting memento of their brief but impactful lives, symbolizing remembrance and love.
Special thanks to Melissa for sharing her story.
If you’d like to honor Cora + Carly and other Corridor babies gone too soon, please consider joining the No Foot Too Small Benefit. Find more details on the No Foot Too Small Facebook page and event information here. To celebrate an angel in your life, contact Robin Boudreau at [email protected].
Alt text: Flyer for the No Foot Too Small Benefit in 2015, inviting community participation to support families and remember babies lost too soon.
