When my husband and I finally decided to have children, it didn’t come right away. I am diagnosed with PCOS and after a year of trying, I went on some hormonal treatment. One round and we were finally expecting! My pregnancy seemed pretty normal as far as pregnancy goes. I had a great midwife- but we ended up moving two hours away from her for work and I was about 7 months along. Eventually, we came to the decision to get induced so that I could keep my provider.
Delivery & Medication Reaction
The day came (a week before my due date) to get induced. The process started and we were excited to meet our little one. I didn’t advance all that much and my midwife decided to break my water. I had meconium in my water so the baby was distressed, but they kept a close eye on him. We went through the night and I was informed the next morning that I was going to have a c-section because I did not advance much. I was only at 2 cm, which is where I started. They began administering drugs for the c-section and I became violently sick and started shaking. As they were wheeling me to the operating room I was still vomiting.
The c-section seemed to go fine and out came my sweet boy. The only issue is that I started to feel them stitch me up towards the end. They decided they were going to keep me longer than usual because of a reaction to the drugs administered for my c-section, but they never specified what kind of reaction it was.
I seemed to be okay up until about 12 hours post-c-section, I got up to go to the bathroom and came back with extreme chills. I checked the temperature in the room and it said 71. Then, I felt my head and it was extremely hot. I called my nurse to let her know that I thought that I had a fever. She came in, took my vitals, and quietly left, saying she would be back. The next thing I know (as I was still shaking) 5 or 6 nurses were in my room looking at my charts. No one was communicating anything to me. Eventually, they told me my fever was 104, my heart rate was 150 and I had dangerously low blood pressure. Thankfully, my team started fluids and antibiotics right away, or I would not be here today.
A Sepsis Diagnosis
The next few days are a blur. My fever fits continued. One minute I was burning up and the next I was ice cold. I was woken up from a nap because my heart was beating so hard and fast that it was moving my neck and chest. At that moment my heart rate jumped to 175 even though I was sleeping. I had over 30 blood tests done and all came back normal, except for my white blood count. That was “a little” low according to my doctor. I had a CTA done of my chest, and an ultrasound done on my leg. It seemed endless, so many different doctors came in to talk to me. Eventually, when everything came back normal and my body was taking to the antibiotics (slowly), they declared me septic. Sepsis occurs when chemicals released in the bloodstream to fight an infection, trigger inflammation throughout the body. I knew nothing about sepsis, I had not heard of it until it happened to me.
The first time I have ever seen my husband cry was in that hospital room. It was clear my health was declining and we had our newborn and no one knew what was going on for a few days. That’s when I thought maybe I was going to die. I was too afraid to sleep. I don’t remember much else. I am grateful my husband was there to help. I couldn’t have done it without him. By the 3rd day of treatment, I finally started to get better. My doctors sent me on my way, making it seem like no big deal, and assured me I would feel better soon. I spent a total of 6 days in the hospital. Unfortunately, more health problems followed.
Finally Home, But All Is Not Well.
I have honestly never felt so terrible in my entire life. Recovering from a c section is hard work, but sepsis on top of that was even harder. I came home with my forearms bruised (from all the IVs and blood tests) but my baby was healthy and thriving which made me feel better. I could barely stand up without feeling faint and started to see stars most of the time. I couldn’t walk across the room without feeling out of breath. My anxiety was out of control. I took my blood pressure every day for a few months and also my temperature. My Apple Watch let me know if my heart rate was high. Every time I felt cold I thought the sepsis was returning (as it does with some people).
A month passed and I noticed that the veins in each of my arms (where they had some of my IVs) looked bruised and felt hard. After some ultrasounds, they discovered I had a blood clot in each arm. My GP thought I should get some genetic testing done, turns out I have a blood clotting disorder called Factor V Leiden Mutation. There are two genes people can carry, thankfully I only have one, but it makes my chances for blood clots a lot higher. Trauma, pregnancy, birth control, hormones, smoking, IVs, and surgery also increase my risk for blood clots. I happened to experience 4 of these risk factors, which led to the blood clots. It’s genetic, although no one on either side of my family has ever heard of it or experienced a blood clot.
I went on a blood thinner for 5 months and I’m now on two baby aspirin for the foreseeable future. I’ve seen specialists for my Factor V and have been given great tips to help me manage my blood disorder.
As far as my sepsis- there are no answers as to why it happened to me, since every test came back normal. The best answer I received was that there may have been a bit of meconium left in my uterus which caused an infection. After I found out about the Factor V, I had a gynecologist explain that it may have been a rare blood clot that caused the sepsis as well.
After everything that happened my PPD spiraled out of control. I cried every day. I literally thought I was being punished for having a child. Eventually, it began to improve each day. I don’t take my temperature or blood pressure all the time unless I have fever symptoms. Physically, I feel better and back to normal. It took about 5 months to really start to feel normal. I can run a mile now.
Mentally I still struggle. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about the sepsis. I think about it more often than the moment I met my child. I obsess over the fact I don’t know where it came from and if it will ever return. I live in fear each day that I could end up with another blood clot. My son is now 13 months old. Harvey is the sweetest little boy, I don’t know how I got so lucky. He was the easiest baby, which made recovery a lot easier. I don’t know what I would do without him. Words cannot express how lucky I feel to still be alive today which I why I’m sharing my story. Hopefully, it will save some lives or help someone else not feel so lonely after birth trauma.
About
I am from a small town in North Idaho. My family roots were planted here a while ago and not many have left. We currently live in Lewiston, Idaho. My husband works at a Papermill as Millwright and I am lucky enough to be able to stay at home with my son, Harvey. We also have a dachshund who I have had since I was 18 years old and has gone everywhere with me, I refer to him as my first baby. I have been married for three years, almost 4. We like to spend time outdoors and go up in the mountains and fishing as much as we can!! Harvey has been the biggest blessing to us, it’s been worth everything that’s happened!
I used to think that trauma, and in particular birth trauma, required wrongdoing. Someone had to do something wrong to traumatize you—like obstetrical violence or medical malpractice. But in my story, everyone did everything right which made coming to terms with my trauma so confusing. The terror in which my son arrived is something I still think about every day.
The Textbook Pregnancy
I was one of those extremely lucky women who sailed through pregnancy. I got pregnant right away after trying exactly one time, and actually found out at the doctor’s office when I went in to find out why my period wasn’t coming. I just didn’t think it could be so easy. Despite some typical nausea and fatigue, I felt amazing during my pregnancy and continued running until 34 weeks when I ran a local 5K.
At each prenatal visit and ultrasound, there were no complications or issues. In fact, my doctor routinely told me that our images were so perfect “you could put them in a textbook.”
As my due date approached, I was genuinely excited to give birth. I wanted to experience labor and all of its intensity, and planned on having an un-medicated vaginal birth as my mom had done with my brother and me. I read Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth which focuses on the idea that birth is a natural body process, not a medical event. I believed that if I was mentally strong, healthy, and informed, I could have the birth I wanted. “Your body is not a lemon,” Ina May tells her readers.
Preterm Labor
As I approached 35 weeks, I started noticing that my Braxton Hicks were becoming increasingly regular and uncomfortable. After two very difficult afternoons, I called my doctor at around 7 pm and she told me—to my surprise—to go to the hospital. It was just two days after my 35 week ultrasound where I was deemed “perfect.”
After spending two hours in the hospital, I was diagnosed with preterm labor. I was 1 cm dilated but not progressing, and was told to go home and rest for the next five weeks. The doctor told me to return to the hospital if my contractions became so painful I couldn’t breathe or if I bled more than the size of a computer mouse. Throughout the night, I got up several times to go to the bathroom. My stomach was upset and my contractions were becoming increasingly painful. I didn’t want to go back to hospital unless I really needed to, and kept trying to convince myself I wasn’t in pain.
“Call 911 right now!”
At around 2:45 am, I got up to go to the bathroom one last time. After I got back into bed, I felt a trickle. I grabbed a tissue to see, wondering if maybe my water was starting to break. Even though it was dark in the room, I could tell it was blood and already about the size of a computer mouse. Confused and concerned, I stood up to go further assess in the bathroom. But as soon as I stood up, there was a flood which gushed down the side of my mattress and onto the floor. A second gush came and I screamed at my husband to “call 911 right now, there’s blood everywhere!” I had read about placental abruption on a pregnancy app and just knew that was what was happening. Every few seconds, blood would just pour out of me. I will never forget the sound of it splashing onto the hardwood floors.
Within seconds, my husband was on the phone with 911, and the dispatcher informed him an ambulance was on the way. At this point, I had tried to contain the bleeding by putting on one of the adult diapers I had purchased for postpartum, but it was no use. It was soaked through within seconds. I was shaking, and truly thought I or my son was going to die. I had visions of my baby having to grow up without me, my husband as a single dad.
Within minutes, the paramedics arrived. One of them went to assess the amount of blood on our floors which was deemed “a moderate amount” or about 300-500 ml (for reference you bleed an average of 80 ml over the course of your entire menstrual period). They were both so calm and assured me I was not dying. They loaded me into the ambulance and informed me that I would be going to the closest hospital, Denver Health and not the hospital I was meant to deliver at.
Emergency Delivery: “You want to do general?”
Denver Health is unique in that it has a dedicated OB triage door for ambulances, so I was brought straight to a screening room as opposed to the ER. A team of midwives immediately threw a fetal monitor on my stomach and found my son’s heartbeat which was still at a healthy rate. I could hear the relief in their voices, “Rebecca that’s your baby! He’s ok!” Like the paramedics, the entire medical staff was so calm and gentle with me. Throughout the night, so many people told me that I had done the right thing and that they were going to take care of me. I am so grateful for the way I was treated, but in the moment I was just so panicked and scared—everything was happening so fast.
Despite how calm and reassuring everyone was, I could see the concern behind their eyes as they weighed my blood-soaked under pads. It wasn’t long before I was brought to a second room where even more people appeared. The attending OB quickly determined that I would likely need a C-Section to save our lives and that they were going to bring me to the OR. Among the typical risks associated with a C-Section, he informed me that they might have to do a hysterectomy if they couldn’t stop the bleeding. At the time, I did not care what they did to me, I just wanted them to do what was necessary to keep us alive. I was definitely in “Jesus take the wheel” mode.
I later learned that shortly after we arrived in the OR, the baby’s heartrate plummeted. My memory of my time in the OR is a blur—everyone was moving quickly and there were at least five people working on me at once, placing lines in both of my arms, inserting my catheter, and creating the sterile environment. It was like being in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy, except everyone was much less dramatic. At one point, I looked over to my right and saw the scrub prepping a table with surgical instruments. There were about 50 different clamps, knives, and what looked like household wrenches. The enormity of what was happening to me was overwhelming.
After some discussion about possibly using general anesthesia, the doctor decided we could try a spinal block. Unfortunately, it did not work quickly enough and the baby’s heartrate dropped again. Someone poked my belly with something sharp and asked “can you feel this?” over and over, with increasing urgency. I couldn’t lie—I could definitely feel it. Within seconds, I heard the anesthetist talking to the doctor again: “Ok you want to do general? Rebecca I’m so sorry we have to put you under.” The next thing I knew there was an oxygen mask on face and he told me to take deep breaths. I was absolutely terrified, hyperventilating, and crying. I was so scared I would not wake up, and scared that if I did, my baby would be dead and I wouldn’t have a uterus.
Meeting Baby Ian
The next thing I remember is a nurse waking me to say I had a baby. “Oh that’s right, I’m in the hospital,” I thought. I was so relieved—we had made it! He was born at 4:20 am, less than an hour and a half after my husband called 911. Sadly, in the haze of waking up from general anesthesia I don’t really remember meeting my baby (whom we named Ian) for the first time. This remains the most traumatic part of my birth experience: that I was not awake for the moment I became a mother and that I do not remember meeting my son.
I soon learned that my instinct was right: I suffered an acute placental abruption, meaning my placenta had detached from my uterus prematurely, causing excessive bleeding—nearly 2 liters—and eventually, fetal distress. Abruptions are rare and affect only about 1 in 200 pregnancies, but are a leading cause of fetal death. Unfortunately, they are still poorly understood and there is no explanation for why this happened to me as a healthy woman with an uncomplicated pregnancy.
Trauma
For the first days and weeks, I felt nothing but gratitude and elation. By some miracle, Ian suffered no oxygen deprivation from the abruption and did not need to go to the NICU despite being born at 35 weeks. I was just so thankful that we had survived this emergency and were both ok. But as the weeks and months went on, I began to realize how much the birth had affected me. I felt like my body had betrayed my baby—he was supposed to still be inside me—and I was just so sad that I missed out on my final month of pregnancy. Every night I relived the entire experience from start to finish like a movie in my mind. I was so scared the entire time, thinking I was going to die, and my mind just latched onto those feelings and wouldn’t let go. I recalled Ina May’s statement that my body wasn’t a lemon—but it was. My placenta, the baby’s lifeline, detached. Yet at the same time, I was confused as to how I could be struggling when I was pleased with my treatment—the doctors did everything right and we had a good outcome. How could I be traumatized?
Now, four months out, I am learning to accept my birth experience and find strength in my and Ian’s resiliency. One of my best friends reminded me that I am a warrior and a survivor, that I took the first step in saving our lives—instructing my husband to call 911 right away. I believe the speed in which we arrived at the hospital and the doctors’ quick decision making are the reasons we are both here today. And while I still have feelings that my body betrayed me, and sadness that I missed my last month of pregnancy and my son’s birth, I know that nothing in life is guaranteed and you can’t control everything.
About Me
Hi, I’m Rebecca, a writer, legal marketing pro, and award-winning jam maker in Denver, Colorado. In addition to my precious baby Ian, I am also the mom of two boisterous cats, Boris and Natasha.
My first pregnancy and labor were a breeze. I had an easy pregnancy, I was induced by choice around 39 weeks, given the epidural before they started the pitocin, and 4 hours later my son was born. My doctor kept saying he couldn’t believe how smooth everything went. My recovery was a breeze, too. I kept telling my husband there was no way I’d be that lucky in the future. Unfortunately, I was right.
Second pregnancy & labor
I always wanted kids close in age, so we aimed for an 18 month age gap, and I got pregnant with our second baby when our first son was 9 months old. My pregnancy was almost exactly the same- limited symptoms, no complications, healthy baby, nothing to be concerned about. At my 35 week appointment, my doctor told me everything looked perfect and we’d schedule my induction at my next appointment (which I requested since I had a pretty quick labor the time before). We never even made it to my next appointment. The very next morning, I woke up and went to the bathroom, and my water broke. I remember just standing there having absolutely no idea how to react. I wasn’t mentally or physically prepared. I was 35 weeks. We hadn’t even installed the second car seat yet. I told my husband and he immediately ran and got our toddler ready and called a friend of ours to let them know we’d be dropping him off. I just stood there in panic. I called the hospital and let them know we’d be coming in, and right after I got off the phone I just started crying. None of this was supposed to be happening.
When we got to the hospital, my husband ran back home to pack a bag and install the carseat. The triage nurse determined I was definitely in preterm labor and was dilated 5cm, but thankfully my son was doing fine. They gave me a steroid shot and the doctor said they weren’t going to administer pitocin because they wanted to keep baby in there was long as they could, at least until I got the second steroid shot. All of this was around 8am.
By 12pm my husband got back to the hospital, and not much had changed. I was having contractions, but they were so mild I couldn’t even feel them and they were pretty inconsistent. I had NO interest in an unmedicated birth, but I didn’t want to get the epidural yet if I wasn’t in any pain because I didn’t know how long I’d end up being there. I didn’t want to be strapped down to the bed for potentially 30 hours (in hindsight, that was a mistake).
Around 5pm I was video chatting my sister (who had picked up our older son from our friends house and was watching him at our house) when I felt a small contraction. I got off video chat with her at 5:15pm and went to the bathroom, still having very minor contractions that weren’t at all painful. When I stood up, I had a contraction so painful I had to sit down on the floor. I went out and told the nurse I’d like to get the epidural started because I was starting to feel some pain. She called the anesthesiologist and let me know he’d be there in 20 minutes. Cool, I could wait 20 minutes, right?
Things escalated way too quickly. Within 10 minutes I was in so much pain I was sobbing. I only had about 10 second breaks in between contractions, and I can honestly say that I wished I would pass out so it would just stop. At that point, the room had filled with nurses, the pediatric nurse, and the doctor. I remember the doctor taking one look at me and saying “I’m really sorry, but I don’t think this epidural is going to happen”. Not even 5 minutes later, after the most excruciating pain I had ever felt that genuinely made me think “I hope I die”, my son was born. It all felt chaotic and frankly unreal. So many people were there, all of them yelling (they were all very sweet and being encouraging, but frankly, having someone yelling encouragement to me when I was about to pass out from pain wasn’t helpful). I felt so out of control. To give you an idea of how quick it was, I was video chatting my sister at 5:15pm; he was born at 5:49pm. When he was born, he was this terrifying dark purple color, so they immediately grabbed him and started working on him. I couldn’t pay much attention because I was still in so much pain. They were having trouble getting his oxygen levels up, so they had to take him to the nursery to work on him. They brought him over so I could give him a kiss, and then whisked him away.
NICU stay
For 3 hours I wasn’t able to see my son. They told me that if they couldn’t get his oxygen levels up, they’d have to transfer him to another hospital across the state for a NICU stay, since they didn’t have a NICU at the hospital I was at. Finally, I was able to go back and see him. He was hooked up to oxygen and wires and just looked so helpless. I just cried and stroked his little foot, because that was all I could do. I couldn’t hold him, couldn’t kiss him, and I was crying too much to talk. After a while, I had to go back to my room for something (I forget why, bloodwork maybe?), and while I was there, the doctor came to inform me that they would have to transfer him to the other hospital- but I couldn’t go with him as a patient. They didn’t have any open beds at the other hospital, so they couldn’t transfer me. I could have been discharged after 6 hours, but I chose not to, because I really didn’t feel comfortable not being monitored so soon after birth. Now, I’m kicking myself for that. I should’ve gotten discharged immediately and gone with him. I ended up being fine so really there was no reason for me to have stayed at the hospital as a patient, but at the time I didn’t know that. Hindsight is 20/20 I guess. I still feel so guilty that my baby spent the first night of his life 30 miles away from me, attached to wires, surrounded by strangers. I got zero sleep that night imagining it.
The next morning, they had a bed open up, so that afternoon I was transferred to the hospital my son was at. I finally got to hold my baby for the first time nearly 24 hours after he was born. My heart broke. I was positive he would have no idea who I was or thought I had abandoned him. I hated myself for not going with him and staying with him all night. But the second they placed him in my arms, my sweet, crying, inconsolable baby calmed immediately. That took a huge weight off my shoulders.
He was in the NICU for a full week. Even after he got off oxygen, he still had trouble regulating his blood sugar, temperature, and weight gain. I was still in tons of pain; my physical recovery was MUCH harder this time around than the first time. My husband and I split our time with our toddler and our newborn, switching on and off to go see him. My heart broke when my toddlers sad eyes would watch me leave everyday and it broke again when I’d put my baby back down in a hospital bassinet and kiss him goodbye for the night.
For a while I struggled with guilt for describing this experience as traumatic. I’d think, “some moms purposely have unmedicated labors, so I shouldn’t label mine as traumatic” “some moms have babies in the NICU for WAY longer” “other babies are born much earlier than 5 weeks”, etc. I understand now (thanks to this blog) that my experience was traumatic because it was traumatic for ME. Just because someone else had it worse or because they wouldn’t view my experience as traumatic doesn’t mean it wasn’t.
I’m thankful that my son is home, almost 4 months old, and is thriving. He’s gaining weight like crazy, his smile lights up the room, and he is meeting all of his milestones. I’m thankful for the doctors and nurses who respected me and were so kind to me; I’m thankful for the NICU nurses who took care of my son; I’m thankful for the friends and family who watched our older son, made us meals, and prayed for us. I’m most thankful for my husband, who I wouldn’t have been able to make it without. My heart still breaks and I’m filled with anxiety and fear when I think about the whole experience, but I’m finally beginning to work towards processing it and healing from it.
About the author:
Hi! My name is Rachel and I’m currently a stay-at-home mom to my two sweet boys. My amazing husband and I have been married for 3 years now. I have a Masters in child development (which I use on my kids, ha) and I love using my skills to help my boys thrive!
What do you do when what was supposed to be one of the most memorable days of your life becomes memorable for all the wrong reasons? My daughter’s birth broke my heart into a thousand different pieces, and I’ve spent the last year trying to put it back together.
Laboring at Home
My due date was July 10th. The day came and went with no signs of her showing up anytime soon. It was peak summer heat and I was heavily pregnant. Anyone who’s been there knows, this is when you are more than ready for your child to make their exit strategy known. When my due date came and went, I scheduled an induction with my OBGYN practice.
The night prior to my scheduled induction, what I thought were more Braxton hicks contractions started up. I had been having them for weeks and just assumed that’s what they were. They started around 7:30 Wednesday night. Around 10 p.m. contractions had gotten strong enough that I started tracking them on my phone. I kept thinking to myself that they’d die down any moment and it would all just be a false alarm. Later, I thought I would go to bed and try to get some sleep. By Midnight I still couldn’t fall asleep and even trying to sleep felt useless at that point. I decided to take a shower and see if that helped with the pain. I spent about 45 minutes in the shower during contractions and at times was almost unable to stand. For early labor this was not what I expected. I spent the next few hours rotating between trying to sleep and rest. Around 4a.m. I had been having steady contractions that were a minute long and had been going on for an hour. I knew that was a good sign, but given my goal was an unmedicated labor I wanted to labor at home as long as possible.
Contractions kept up and it hit a new level of intensity around 5. At this point, my husband who had been sleeping through all this next to me asked how close contractions were and asked to see my phone. He realized at that point my contractions had been 3 to 5 minutes apart for over 2 hours. In a panic he asked if we should go to the hospital, at the very least phone the doctor on call. I was adamant no call needed to be made and I’d let him know when. Honestly, I still laugh about it because he was very concerned, he’d have to deliver a baby himself at home.
Around 5:30, I had back-to-back contractions so intense, I thought that’s it, I’m trying the OB on call and am going to see what they say. I thought for sure, I’d have to convince him I was in labor or he’d ask me questions or something. He just said come in and let’s have a baby. Looking back now, what I liked most about this exchange and couldn’t articulate at the time, was that he trusted me. No fuss, no convincing. When I hung up the phone, I was excited and scared too. We got to the hospital around 6.
Arriving at The Hospital
Upon arriving on the labor and delivery floor, they took some general information and sent me to triage. The nurse was friendly and personable which made me feel a lot better. She was telling me how she and the OB on call for my practice had delivered a baby that night. She genuinely seemed really excited about it. Upon checking me, it turned out I was 5cm dilated at that point. Honestly, I was surprised and sort of excited that I had was that far along. I was hopeful, but you never know. At that point, I was admitted. We walked through some of the preferences and questions you have for birth and your stay. Breastfeeding… pain management, all the things. I think about this point a lot now, as I had planned to go unmedicated. During contractions at home, I had said to my husband that I thought I had wanted an epidural when I got to the hospital. I was still unsure, but we decided to go ahead and move forward with it. Once we got through all the administrative items and admission tests my assigned nurses came to get me. If was shift change at this point and she also had a student nurse shadowing her for the day. I was in the hospital gown and I remember they got another one to put on me in reverse to cover me as they had me walk from triage to my L&D room. Hospital gowns are obviously open in the back and they didn’t want me to feel exposed. The nurse kept apologizing to me as I was walking to the room.
Once we got to the room, they hooked up to all the monitoring. Blood pressure, fetal, you name it. I remember contractions were so intense at this point I had trouble laying down. During this I stood up to breathe through it. I remember my nurse looking a little annoyed at that point, but I couldn’t lay flat. After that contraction I managed to get situated and they let me know the CRNA would be with me shortly for my epidural. They placed the epidural shortly before 8 and honestly it was one of the best experiences. I often have regretted the decision to get the epidural since, but it wasn’t painful, and I barely noticed the placement. My nurse really supported and coached me through it. Afterwards, I just felt calm and I was hopeful to get some rest.
Shortly after I got my epidural the OB on call came in to check on me and say hi. He also commented on how far along I was and how sure of myself I had sounded on the phone. I made some joke about not having wanted to show up and get sent home. He said that as I was scheduled for an induction that night, they would have kept me anyways. The OB stayed to chat for a few minutes and then headed out as his call shift was ending. The nurse let me know she’d be back in an hour to check on me and my husband went to the cafeteria to grab some food.
A little after 9 the nurse came back to check on me and see how I was doing…I call this the drill (pain level, cervical exam, positioning.) I kind of felt like a hot dog on rotation at times. A weird analogy I know, but a very specific method to the madness. As there was a student nurse with her, I got two cervical exams each time they came in. You learn a lot about people in the way they teach and communicate. I remember after the student nurse did an exam and they were comparing how dilated I was among other things, the nurse said she tends to be more conservative in her exams. Meaning, if you’re between a 7 and 6, she would say 6. As they were wrapping up, the OB on call for that day came in.
An Awkward EncounterTurned Violent
As he was standing in the doorway, he asked me if we had met before. We had in fact, at 3 different prenatal appointments, 2 in the last month. I nervously nodded my head and said yes. It was awkward, I could tell he felt uncomfortable after that. I often think of this moment and wonder how the day might have gone differently if I said no. He didn’t say anything after that really. He grabbed some stuff out of the corner of the room, washed his hands, and came over to check on me. He did a cervical exam and let me know I was still 6 cm dilated. He then started to get what I now know is called an amniotomy hook out of the packaging to break my water. He was sitting beside me on the bed doing this. I knew what he intended to do, but he said nothing to me. Not here’s what happening, no discussion, not anything. I remember thinking, just tell him no. Tell him that you want to wait. I wanted to wait to break my water unless it was necessary for many reasons, infection, the clock it puts you on in my hospitals etc. I couldn’t say anything, I just smiled at him so he would have to acknowledge me, and he smiled back and then he broke my water. This was a life changing moment for me however small it may seem to some. What I couldn’t acknowledge then but can see now if how violated I felt by this. It’s worth mentioning here that I am a survivor of sexual assault. While it happened 13 years prior to me giving birth, this moment took me back. It’s a birth experience I never mentioned to my therapist as I was too embarrassed. Embarrassed that I found myself in that situation and embarrassed that I let it happen again. The nurse charted the time, color and amount of fluid and they all left the room.
The nurse came back awhile later for another exam and to see how I was. I was 8cm dilated at this point and labor was progressing well. I remember being relieved about this. As I was scheduled to be induced, I really worked hard to let go of any expectations for the day, but it appeared I had a good chance of having a vaginal birth, with labor that wouldn’t go on for days. The nurse came back to check on me around 10:45 and at the time I was almost complete. Again, she was surprised. She called the OB to update him and to order Pitocin for after delivery. She also let him know how far along I was to check his schedule. I think she thought he would have a delivery or something soon, but I don’t think he did. He had an ECV that day and two c-sections so she was trying to catch him. She seemed to be a seasoned nurse who was prepared for everything. She had started to ask me for consent for Pitocin post-delivery. My husband had asked questions for me throughout the day. He knows I won’t always ask or advocate for myself in the way I should and he’s good about being a supportive partner. We had taken a 6 week long course with a local doula, so I felt prepared for most things. I had commented to him when he asked what it was for that it was to likely help prevent postpartum hemorrhage if you wanted an actively managed third stage of labor. At this point the labor and delivery nurse asked if I was a nurse. In that moment I felt like I had prepared well if this woman was asking this question. She let me know I had a bit of a cervical lip, but that she was going to go to lunch and when she got back she would see where I was, but I would likely be having a baby soon!
While she was on lunch, I could tell labor was progressing. Despite having an epidural, I could still move around pretty well and could feel an intense pressure. My husband kept asking if I was in pain and if we should call the nurse’s station. I kept saying no but reached a point where I thought we should. A nurse came to see us and basically told me they could see the monitors form the desk, I was fine and here’s why. Let’s just say she was a gem of a human and I’m thrilled the nurse working with me that day was not her. A little before 11:30 my nurse came back to see me and I was complete. I did a few practice pushes and we decided to keep going. I had a lot of feeling and she let me tell her when I felt it was time to push. I liked that I really felt like I was in charge and that it was just the three of us at this point. It was calm. During this time, you could begin to see my daughters head during pushes. The nurse commented how you could see all her dark hair and told my husband to look if he wanted. Mister I’ll stay by your head leaned down in the action and he looked so excited. I won’t forget that look either.
A little while into pushing the nurse moved from standing beside me in between contractions to standing at the end of the bed. Her demeanor changed at some point from a level of calm encouragement to nervous watching. She kept making eye contact with me and at the time I wondered, “does she think I’m too tired, like I can’t do this?” I now know this look was likely for other reasons. Almost an hour into pushing, the nurse suddenly turned me to my left side. In the moment you’re just trying to get through. I know this should have signaled something more serious to me, but she remained so calm. She encouraged me to push on my left side and then asked if I wanted to keep pushing on my side. It was hard for me to really tell at that point what was working well.
A Change of Plans
The OB came in the room a few minutes later. He sat down on the side of the bed and coached me through some pushing while he checked on my daughter and did a vaginal exam. While this was occurring, he turned to the nurse and said it feels like there is a piece of tissue blocking things and she said I thought so. Turns out I had a vaginal septum, which was complicating things. I can’t assume what his intent was because I don’t know for sure, but I think he tried to move it out of the way so to speak as he pulled the tissue to one side with his hand during the exam. I only know this because my whole body shifted slightly. Following this, he was still sitting on the bed beside me and he looked at me and said I’m concerned about your baby’s heart-rate and the amount of blood you have lost so far. The way he said it freaked me out. He looked me directly in the eyes when he calmly said this to me. He was showing both concern but also emotion I hadn’t experienced him with that day or during any prenatal visits in which I saw him. He was very much a business-as-usual no emotion old school provider. He seemed very much an unquestioned expert and this type of exchange scared me. After he said this, I remember there being a long enough pause to wonder what he would say next. Did they want to do a c-section? He then said he would like to do a forceps delivery. This wasn’t even on my radar. C-sections are incredibly common, so of course I had done endless reading about that in my prep but the only thing I could even recall was that your risk of 3rd or 4th degree tearing was higher with forceps, but that was it. I think I must have mustered up an ok, but I really can’t remember saying anything and that was it. There was no discussion about what could or would happen. As soon as that decision was made, the first thing the nurse asked him was if he wanted her to breakdown the bed and then about a thousand things happened at once. The OB asked if I’d had an ultrasound lately which I had a few weeks earlier. We talked about how the baby had measured – 37th percentile as he was getting some things ready. A woman came in to give me another dose for my epidural. She came flying in the room and said nothing. I remember putting my hand out like she was going to put this in my IV line, to which she said no I’m going to put this back here and pointed. I think about that in how out of it and truly overwhelmed and scared I was in that moment.
After this the nurse asked if I minded is a resident observed. She practically shouted it from the doorway like it was something to hurriedly check off a list. I said, does it even matter at this point? I must have surprised her as she looked both flustered and confused. She said well…at which point I said it’s fine. I just wanted to end the conversation if you could even call it that. In the moment I was upset and scared about everything happening around me and that no one acknowledged me. No one had time to explain anything, but they had time to ask me if a resident could be present. I get so angry thinking about it now. At the time, I thought who cares about the resident, what about me.
The OB came back in the room after getting all gowned up and sat at the end of the bed. I smiled at him again and it was eerily reminiscent of just a few hours earlier. It was just something to say hey I’m here…acknowledge me. He didn’t say anything while he was placing the forceps or prepping.
Sloane’s Birth
During the next contraction I pushed while the OB used the forceps to help guide her out. Honestly, it was a terrible experience. It feels like something is being pulled from you. I remember looking to the sides of the room during, at the nurse or the wall. At one moment I looked directly in front of me and saw the OB twisting back and forth with his foot on the end of the bed for leverage. I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me and I couldn’t breathe. I was so startled and didn’t even know if I could keep going. I just froze in that moment. It’s the memory that haunts me the most. A minute or so later the OB smiled at us and told us her head was out. The room was so quiet. I thought it was just me, but even my husband commented how he wondered if our daughter would cry and how relieved he felt when she finally did. Sloane was born at 12:45p.m.
After she was born, they put her on my chest and that was it. It was so hard and uncomfortable to move from such a terrifying moment to one that was supposed to be filled with so much joy. The nurse immediately asked for one of our phones and took photos for us. She said don’t worry, I’ll make it tasteful…loved her for this. They are they only photos we have of the 3 of us from the hospital, because well covid. My husband cut the cord and we all guessed what her weight might be. It was such a turnaround in the room that I wasn’t prepared to move through.
After my daughter was delivered and while the OB was stitching me up there was a tech or perhaps some sort of medical assistant who kept giving the OB grief about his dad sneakers. In the moment it was sort of comical but also very odd. Here I was having just given birth with my daughter and husband and this woman couldn’t stop going on about his shoes. It felt like it took him awhile to stitch me up, but he had also done a resection of the septum as well. In his words, he was going to “fix this while I’m here.”
When it was time to move to my postpartum room, I was still so numb I couldn’t stand on my own. I tried several times but couldn’t. They had to wheel me in the bed and then move me from there. It wasn’t until almost 4 hours after I gave birth that I could walk on my own. Besides physically being numb I felt like I was in a fog. We spent two days in the hospital as Sloane had some bruising from delivery and had elevated jaundice levels. During covid most stays had been shortened so I was hopeful to go home the next day, but we had to stay an extra night. She had marks on her face and head from the forceps. I didn’t realize how those would impact me. I feel like I could see them for months after her birth and still sometimes think I do. When we finally got to go home two days later, I just sat down and sobbed in our dining room for what seemed like forever. I think it was letting out what had transpired in the last few days and trying to find the strength to tackle what was to come.
Postpartum
Trauma steals your joy. It changes you in ways you can’t fully understand until you have lived it. I struggled through that postpartum haze disconnected from my body and baby. I lost 40lbs in the first 6 weeks after I gave birth. I had lost the entirety of the “baby weight” and then some. Friends I would see or strangers on neighborhood walks would congratulate me and tell me how good motherhood looked on me. Little did they know my husband had to force me to eat one meal a day for the first two months. I only participated as I didn’t want my milk supply to drop. To the outside world I had succeeded. I lost the weight and I looked happy. Privately, I struggled deeply with postpartum depression and anxiety. Some days I thought it might swallow me whole. For a long time, I thought this was just how postpartum went and if I had been better equipped, stronger, or more prepared I could have handled it in stride. I wouldn’t have floundered and been unable to support my family in the way they and I deserved.
No one tells you what it’s like to feel like a stranger in your own body. The one place you should feel at home, just isn’t anymore. I think a lot of postpartum women feel like this. I certainly did. But it’s another thing entirely not to trust it anymore. For months I felt like this experience happened to someone else, I lost the mind body connection I had worked so hard to restore years earlier. That’s the thing about trauma, it reaches every part of you.
Some days I feel stuck. There are reminders everywhere. The mom with a toddler who is heavily pregnant. I’m jealous of her joy and that she is brave enough to do it all over again. Billboards advertising the hospital network where I gave birth send me right back. Someone casually asking if I’m going to have another baby sends me into an all day spiral.
I read Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth while I was pregnant. She says, “Whenever and however you give birth, your experience will impact your emotions, your mind, your body, and your spirit for the rest of your life.” I understood it then, but I feel this in my bones now. I am forever changed in ways I couldn’t have known before.
The thing about trauma is that it can bring you to your knees. It takes your breath away in the most unexpected of moments in ways that have a lifelong ripple effect. It’s the worst kind of heartbreak to have such a beautiful day stolen from you. Each of us who have walked this path must find ways to live in the in-between. We move forward grasping for joy while trying to manage the grief of the past.
Bio
Hi, I’m Kate! I work as a financial planner and I live with my husband and daughter in Cincinnati.
I entered my third trimester in late April 2020, during the first of many Covid surges in my city. Because I was low risk, I was converted to virtual appointments from 28 weeks to 35 weeks. When I presented to the office at week 35, my blood pressure was elevated. It had been normal at home, and I have a history of white coat hypertension, but my OB decided to order a 24 hour urine test, just in case.
35 Weeks
Two days later, on my birthday, my OB called to let me know there was excess protein in my 24 hour urine. My blood pressure was still within normal limits at home, so we elected to continue to watch and wait. My blood pressure began to climb over the next day, but I chalked it up to pain and stress, as I had had a stage 0 melanoma diagnosed and a wide excision performed. By Saturday, it was within the “call your OB” range consistently over a few hours. I called the after hours nurse line, and was instructed to present to L&D. Before we could make it out the door (we had NOTHING packed or ready for a small human and my husband was frantically trying to install a carseat), the on-call OB called, took a h&p over the phone, and was comfortable with me staying home and monitoring my blood pressure more closely. Over the next day or so, it remained elevated, but not so high that immediate interventions were needed.
At 36 weeks, my OB decided it would be safest to induce at 37 weeks. My husband and I spent the week preparing for our little one’s imminent arrival.
Labor, Delivery, and Hospital Stay
My labor and delivery went better than we ever expected, save for the process of getting an epidural. I was admitted on a Sunday evening, began pitocin at 4am on Monday, and delivered our baby girl after 10 minutes of pushing at 3:48pm the same day.
Interestingly, the most traumatic part in this entire journey for my husband was the process of me getting an epidural. I had declined an epidural before the anesthesiologist on L&D that day went to staff a c-section. In that time, I started to progress very quickly, and knew I couldn’t wait until the L&D anesthesiologist was available. A backup physician was called, and they did a terrible job of explaining what was going on and preparing us. Even worse, they did not keep their cool when I began bleeding from the epidural site. My husband said that he has never seen a doctor look as terrified as that doctor looked.
In the first hours post delivery, my blood pressure dropped and normalized. The hospital stay itself was totally overwhelming, and I was so anxious to get home after three days of a constant stream of people in and out of my room. As our stay progressed, my blood pressure started to climb again, but it was still low enough that we were discharged 48 hours post delivery. My OB discussed the signs and symptoms of postpartum preeclampsia extensively with me, and my husband and I felt comfortable with the plan to discharge to home with self-monitoring of blood pressure.
72-96 Hours Postpartum
Our first evening home, I began to notice some strange symptoms. My legs were involuntarily shaking, and I had a few episodes of tunnel vision overnight. The whole next day, I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. I chalked it up to being 3 days postpartum, even as more concerning symptoms popped up. I pushed through, taking my daughter to a doctor’s appointment, trying to unpack from the hospital stay, and operating on a 2 hour feeding schedule to try to get my daughter’s bilirubin level down.
By that evening, I had intense chest pain and heart palpitations. I realized I had never taken my blood pressure, and finally took it at 9:30pm. It was the highest it has ever been. I remember looking at the number, and letting out an ear shattering scream. I knew I was in trouble. I knew I was going to have to go back to the hospital, and leave my newborn and husband. I called the on-call nurse, who instructed me to present to the emergency room as soon as possible. I didn’t want to go, and tried to convince my husband not to take me. He broke down, and told me he could not raise our child alone. Only because of that, I agreed to go to the ER at the hospital I had delivered at, figuring that seeking evaluation at the institution where my OB was would allow for seamless care.
I will never forget the drive to the hospital. My 3 day old child was screaming in the back in her carseat because she was hungry, and I hadn’t fed her. Because of newly enacted Covid protocols at the hospital, nobody was allowed to accompany me. My husband dropped me off at the only door you could access because of Covid, and I walked into the hospital completely alone.
Once in the ER, I followed the instructions I was given at discharge from L&D: I provided my name, my OB’s name, my symptoms, and prenatal diagnosis of preeclampsia. I repeated this process countless times, to anyone who walked into my room. Unfortunately, I was provided little to no information on the plan of care, despite my attempts to ask questions and advocate for myself. When I asked what medication was being pushed into my IV, I was told “something for your blood pressure”. When I asked why I was getting a chest x-ray, I was told “for your heart.” The ER physician finally informed me they wanted to work me up for cardiomyopathy. They stated they had called the on-call OB, who recommended I be released and follow up with cardiology in the morning. If I wanted, they could admit me for observation overnight. At this point, my symptoms were continuing to worsen.
I agreed to be admitted, and found myself on an internal medicine floor. I again repeated my speech to all the nurses and physicians who walked into that room. My blood pressure was only being taken every 2-3 hours. I learned my liver enzymes were elevated, a lab that was written off by the medical team as a normal variation. I began to experience a pounding headache, and swelling of my hands and feet. I had no supplies to care for the 2nd degree tear I had sustained during delivery. Because I had no one available with knowledge of medications in lactation, I had to dump all the colostrum I pumped.
At 7am shift change, I begged my new nurse to call my OB directly. I was brushed off, and told the internist would see me that morning. Not once did anyone explain what was going on, what labs were being drawn, what medications were being prescribed, or what the plan of care was. It was at that point I knew I needed to take things into my own hands. As soon as my OB’s office opened at 8:30am, I called them directly.
I will never forget my OB’s name flashing across my cell phone, a mere 5 minutes after I had left a message with her nurse. She told me she had never been informed I had been readmitted, that I never should have presented to the ER, and that I needed to be on the L&D floor receiving magnesium. She began getting me transferred, and also began obtaining appropriate authorizations for my husband and newborn to return. Due to another Covid surge, the hospital was not allowing any visitors at that time.
The moment my daughter and I were reunited after 18 hours apart
I made it onto the L&D floor and began receiving magnesium at around 11am – 13 hours after I had walked through the doors the night before. The nurses and staff on the L&D floor were amazing. I was in shock, and then added magnesium to the mix. If you’ve never received magnesium, you may have it explained to you as “it will make you feel like you have the flu”. If you have received magnesium, you know it is much worse than that. The floor manager ensured that my husband and daughter were allowed back in, and threw verbal elbows when the Covid door screener suggested that I should just pump milk rather than breastfeed. The lactation consultant gave me guidance on how to relieve engorgement and use the pump correctly. The nurses and OBs took time to explain what was going on, what every drug they were prescribing was, and what to expect next.
The Aftermath
I was released a few hours after completing a 24 hour infusion of magnesium, and continued to take antihypertensive medication for a few weeks. My blood pressure did eventually return to normal. I elected to file a complaint with the hospital system, given the situation. I was informed via a letter that an investigation had been completed, and I simply didn’t advocate well enough for myself in the ER.
After I received this letter, I began having intense flashbacks. I would lay down at night, and as soon as I would close my eyes I was back in the ER. I lost all confidence in my abilities to seek medical care. I suffered through what I now know was intense PPD and PTSD, simply because I didn’t have the emotional energy to try to navigate a system that had let me down on so many levels. I spent months feeling so desperately alone. All I could think about was wanting a do over. I finally sought the care of a reproductive psychiatrist and a therapist trained in EMDR. After many intense sessions, I finally began to see improvements in PTSD symptoms.
I know I still have a lot of work to do. I recently had my 1 year follow up appointment with my OB, and the process of having my blood pressure taken brought me right back mentally and emotionally to being in the ER. My OB and I spent some time looking at my records from that night, and cannot piece together how things went so wrong. Not having an answer to that is so hard.
I will always give the same advice to pregnant and birthing people: ask specific instructions regarding where to present should you have any postpartum complication. I have started to share my experience with postpartum preeclampsia more openly, and have come to find that I am not the only one with this story. It both makes me so profoundly sad that other birthing people have experienced this, but so grateful that I am not alone. I hope that I can continue to integrate postpartum preeclampsia into my story, and eventually use it to help educate providers and patients alike.
About Kate
Hi, I’m Kate! I’m a certified genetic counselor specializing in oncology in Texas, a wife, dog mom, and mom to 1 daughter. In my spare time, I love to craft, read, and rewatch Gilmore Girls for the upteenth time. I am a MoMMA’s Voices Certified Patient Family Partner. I also recently opened an Etsy shop (https://www.etsy.com/shop/Midwesternerintexas) with all proceeds going to the Preeclampsia Foundation.
My name is Jessica Grib and I died after delivering my daughter in September 2016. I crashed and coded in the post-op room after my C-section, was given CPR for 10 minutes by several different people, and paddled with electric shock until they brought me back to life. I was then placed on several life support devices and my family was told that there was little hope of my survival.
Pregnancy
I was 30 years old and pregnant with my second baby. My husband, Kevin, and I also had a 2 year old son, Noah. This pregnancy was different than with Noah. I was more tired, I got winded easily, and I had terrible headaches when I would lay down at night. In the few weeks before my daughter, Amelia, was born, my blood pressure began to rise. There were a couple of occasions where I was admitted to Mercy Hospital as an outpatient to monitor my pressure. Bed rest and blood pressure medication didn’t lower my blood pressure, so at 37 weeks gestation, the decision made to begin an induction. We were 12 hours into the induction when Amelia turned breech. Since this was now a breech birth, a cesarean section was scheduled. The C-section went without complications and Amelia was born on September 29th. Kevin, Amelia, and I went to the recovery room. This is when everything went wrong.
Chaos and Devastation
Suddenly, the staff urged Kevin to leave the room with Amelia because my heart-rate was skyrocketing, my oxygen was plummeting, and the room quickly filled with doctors and nurses. Shortly after arriving in the recovery room, I was taken to the ICU. I had a rapid heart-rate, low oxygen levels, fluid on my lungs, and unstable blood pressure (with some readings even as low as 49/37). Within a very short time, arrhythmias of my heart developed and I was paddled several times to get back in rhythm. Cardiologists in the Mercy system were called emergently. Kevin, my mom, and my mother-in-law were told that my heart was failing. It was one of the worst cases this cardiologist had seen, and I needed to be in cardiac cath lab immediately.
In the cardiac cath lab, my heart stopped beating and I coded several times. A 6-person team began CPR for a duration of about 10 minutes. The cardiologist was able to place the Impella device into my heart to pump the blood for me since my heart wasn’t beating properly on its own. The Impella device kept me alive long enough to be transferred to another hospital in St. Louis, Barnes Jewish Hospital. My family was told that the best chance of survival was to get to Barnes and to be placed on an ECMO machine. I arrived at Barnes on September 30th and was admitted to CV ICU (Cardio thoracic /Heart chest ICU). I was placed on the ECMO machine in addition to the Impella device. At this point, I was on a ventilator and two cardiac machines, I was in heart failure, my liver was failing, and my kidneys were failing. Amelia was receiving amazing care in the nursery at Mercy, I was on life support at Barnes, and Noah was at home. No matter where my husband was, he felt guilty for where he wasn’t.
When I was transferred to Barnes, my family was faced with the harsh reality of the doctor’s words. My heart was not beating. I was completely flatlined on the monitor for about 36 hours because the Impella device, ventilator, and ECMO were working as my heart, lungs, and kidneys. My husband was attempting to process the doctor’s words: that he was going to lose his high school sweetheart the day his daughter was born.
The Miracle That Let Me Meet My Daughter
Miraculously, after a few days, my heart began to beat on its own again. It was just a blip here and there on the monitor, but it was enough to give my family hope. Those blips slowly turned into more arrhythmic beating and I began to breathe on my own again. On October 5, 2016, I was taken off ECMO and the Impella device was removed. My ventilator came out on October 8th. On October 9th, I was celebrating our 6th wedding anniversary by sitting up in a chair and having my husband feed me ice chips one by one all night. My heart function (ejection fraction or “EF”) went from 5% at Mercy on September 29th to 40% on October 5th to 60% today (50-70% is considered normal heart function).
On October 11th, when my daughter was 2 weeks old, I was able to meet her for the first time post-delivery. Since I was under sedation for so long, I suffer from retrograde amnesia, meaning that I have memory loss even before my traumatic event. I estimate that I lost about 3-4 weeks of memories, some of which are the birth of my daughter, something that shouldn’t be erased from any mother’s memory. I have no recollection of her birth, my C-section, or the nurse placing her at my cheek minutes after she was born. For all intents and purposes, I did not meet my daughter until she was 2 weeks old.
I was also able to see Noah for the first time since being admitted to the hospital. Two weeks after giving birth, my family of four was finally whole for the first time. I received physical therapy and occupational therapy in the hospital because my fine and gross motor skills were so severely impacted. I was unable to walk or feed myself, and even needed assistance from my loving husband to place a pacifier in our newborn daughter’s mouth. I experienced several complications including blood clots in my heart and uterus and extremely elevated heart rate and blood pressure. However, after just three weeks in the hospital, I was able to return home with my family. Going home was both thrilling and terrifying – I was so afraid I was going to die when I got home without the help of my life-saving medical staff.
The Misery of Recovery
After being discharged, I still felt miserable. My blood pressure was out of control, even with my 10-12 medications per day. One night, my blood pressure rose to 195/115. I could feel it elevated as my head felt like it was about to explode, I felt extremely nauseous, and I was not able to stand up. My heart rate was also extremely high even as I was sitting still. I couldn’t walk around my house without stopping to rest. I could not take care of my children. I was not able to return to work. I was so discouraged that I was going to be this sick for the rest of my life. However, my peripartum cardiologist kept digging for answers. In November 2016, she detected the presence of a paraganglioma, a tumor located next to my adrenal gland. As scary as this new diagnosis was, I was told that it would be the answer to all of my problems once it was removed. It was possible to get my life back.
I had surgery to remove the tumor on December 7, 2016. To say I was terrified is an understatement. This surgery was extremely high risk and I didn’t want to die… again. Amazingly, the surgery was uncomplicated and I awoke from sedation with low-normal blood pressure and a healthy heart rate. I did not have to be sent to the ICU as originally planned and I was able to be discharged just two days later.
One week after surgery, I felt completely like myself again. I could pick up my son. I could care for my daughter. I had my life back! That tumor was the cause of my heart failure. Removing the tumor solved all my problems.
I returned to work full-time on February 1, 2017. My maternity leave was extended just 4 weeks longer than I originally planned. My heart rate and blood pressure stabilized to normal numbers and my stamina has returned. I was truly given my life back.
I survived Peripartum Cardiomyopathy (PPCM). This is a silent killer that is taking far too many new moms away from their newborns and families. I want to share my story to educate people about PPCM. The United States has one of the highest maternal mortality rates, even when compared to underdeveloped countries. I never thought I could lose my life during childbirth in an American hospital in 2016. Pregnant women, as well as health care professionals, need to know the signs and symptoms of PPCM as well as how it can be treated. If I can save just one mother from being taken away from her baby by PPCM, I know I will have succeeded in my goal.
Biography:
As I write this, I am exactly 37 weeks gestation with my post-heart failure pregnancy. My husband and I extensively researched the risks with heart failure and paraganglioma tumors with subsequent pregnancies. We spoke with every specialist we could think of, including a few of those who saved my life. Every doctor was supportive of another pregnancy and I am being followed very closely by my obstetrician and my peripartum cardiologist. I am having routine BNP blood tests conducted to determine if I am in any cardiac distress, echocardiograms have been performed before and during pregnancy, and hormone levels are being watched through bloodwork to ensure the tumor is not returning. All of my tests are coming back with healthy numbers in the average range. Still, my husband and I (and all of our family and friends) are waiting with bated breath for the birth of our third child. We are hopeful that we have an uneventful labor and delivery this time around.**Update- Jessica now has a beautiful healthy 6 week old!
