Navigating Pregnancy After Loss
The word trauma didn’t mean much to me before my miscarriage and my second pregnancy. I always associated that term with soldiers in war torn countries and car accidents. It never occurred to me becoming a mom would be the most traumatic thing in my life.
My husband and I got pregnant after a year of diligently trying to conceive right after we sought help from a fertility clinic. Before we contemplated any procedures I magically got a big fat positive test! I knew the odds of having a miscarriage. I’ve known many friends and family who have had one or more but I thought it wasn’t going to happen to me. I was wrong and I ended up having a miscarriage in the emergency room bathroom. I saw my perfect baby be scooped out of my underwear and put into a specimen cup by my nurse. Our first daughter was so loved and wanted.
We quickly started trying again. My heart was heavy but ready to become pregnant. A few months later another positive pregnancy test brought us so much hope. During this pregnancy so much fear and anxiety loomed over me. At 12 weeks I began bleeding but after reassurance and pelvic rest I was starting to think this baby was going to stay put. Fast forward to around 20 weeks when we found out our baby was a girl! This excitement was soon overtaken by my blood pressure trending upwards. I started tracking my pressures at home and was noticing some large elevations. I knew something was wrong.
Antepartum Complications
At 23 weeks, I went to my OB office with my mom for an ultrasound and checkup. I could barely catch my breath. I was so tired and my face was so swollen. I told my provider I didn’t feel good. I peed in a cup and headed to my mothers house before driving the hour home. The call that came just two hours later will be one I will never forget. I was told very gently, yet urgently, to have someone drive me to the hospital to be admitted to maternal special care. I would be receiving steroid injections right away because my protein in my urine was extremely elevated. I was diagnosed with early-onset severe preeclampsia.
After I was transported to my room, I was told that I would be here for a while. Little did I know when they said a while they didn’t mean just a night or two, it would be for the remainder of my pregnancy. That night was one of the most frightening nights of my life. I had sent my husband home that evening so he could go to work in the morning and he ended up getting a call to come back because I was headed to the ICU. My blood pressures kept rising to extremely dangerous levels despite being maxed out on every antihypertensive drug. My doctor told me I had enough beta blockers in me to “snow a horse”. I was on the verge of having a stroke. I spent the weekend in the ICU being watched, poked, prodded, and so many other humbling things. At one point during my stay I told my husband my soul was leaving my body. I was in so much pain but I knew I would go to the brink to keep her in my belly. On the way to the ICU I met with a neonatologist that discussed survival rates and the chances of severe disability. My daughter was on the cusp of viability. The words comfort care were discussed but she was encouraging and I felt that our little girl was a fighter.
After what had seemed like an eternity, I was back up in my room on the unit I called home. I don’t exactly remember everything from that weekend. I don’t know if the magnesium and meds made me forget or if it was my own brain blocking it all out. During the next week, I was on a rollercoaster of highs and lows, mentally and physically. My body had stopped releasing urine so I had about 22 pounds of extra fluid in my system. I could not bend my arms. I was unable to wipe after using the restroom because my arms were so bloated. When I was allowed to eat my husband had to spoon feed me. I was often not allowed to eat because delivery was imminent at any given time. A nurse would run in randomly and tell me to eat quickly when the provider would allow, not knowing when I could again.
The bloodwork was constant and grueling. Some days I would get 15 draws. My veins were so inaccessible that sometimes they would have to lance my finger and milk the blood into a vial. I was being tested for literally anything that could be causing my body to be resisting all the meds and also to make sure my organs weren’t failing. I would hold my belly and talk to my daughter to keep me going. I would endure all the pain in the world if it meant she could be brought into it. All of my specialists would just tell me if we can keep you pregnant for the next hour it would be a win. As the days went on it changed to keeping me pregnant for another night or day. I was told it would be a miracle to make it to 26 weeks. With my sarcastic optimism I countered with 30 weeks.
I was getting biophysical profiles done to make sure our daughter was growing properly and also showing positive signs of her living in my belly. My body had become a hasty environment for a baby to grow. We were starting to become optimistic that I was going to beat the odds. I started urinating more and I was becoming more stable but one night while my daughter was being monitored it all changed. I had watched that strip so many times I knew what to anticipate. Most of the time her strips didn’t look great but not horrible. I started to see her heart rate slow and eventually it stopped. I was hitting my call button and yelling as I heard my nurse sprinting down the hall. This petite woman flipped me so fast and looked like she’d seen a ghost. I was immediately transferred to L&D for the second time. Ultrasound found her just fine and moving around so I was able to breathe again. This happened again in the middle of the night but they found her on ultrasound just fine. I was sent back up to my room the next day which I lovingly referred to as my studio apartment. I started decorating and making a countdown on the wall because I thought I’d be here for a while. Unfortunately that wasn’t the case. During her biophysical profiles it showed my cordflow was absent and she wasn’t getting what she needed to grow. My amniotic fluid also was almost gone. I felt like I had failed. I did everything right even before we conceived. It wasn’t fair that my baby’s life was in the balance because my body was failing.
Shit Hit The Fan
The next day marked two weeks since I had been admitted. It was the day I would make my fourth and final trip to L&D hopped up on magnesium for the fourth time. During the morning it was discovered that my placenta was giving up and the cord flow reversed. My body was taking from her. I was told delivery would be in two days after my second round of steroids were administered. I didn’t make it more than a couple hours before shit hit the fan. I called my husband to leave work and he made it just in time for my emergency c section. While I was on all fours trying to keep my baby’s heart rate up, my OB rushed in, put his hand on my shoulder, and said “you’re going to have this baby now!” Three attempts to get my epidural and minutes later she was born. I was told she cried but I didn’t hear it. I wasn’t able to hear my own baby cry. She weighed 1 pound 8 ounces. Her cord was wrapped around her neck twice and it had a true knot. It was a miracle she was born alive. We named her Wilhelmina. Such a strong name for a very strong little girl. I was given a few quick moments to see her before my husband and the NICU teamed rushed her to the unit. A very dear friend of mine who was an OB resident came and sat with me while I was being closed up. I was using humor to deflect from what was in my mind. I was worried she would die before I would really get to meet her. I was afraid I was going to crash on the table. I was afraid of everything so to keep me sane I joked with my OB about my guts being out of my body on a table next to me.
Recovery and The NICU
Once in recovery, a breast pump was attached to me and my shriveled grey placenta was in a tray at my feet and everything was a blur after that. I remember being back in my “studio apartment” with my mom and sisters surrounding me itching like crazy. I wanted to see my daughter but they said I needed to rest. When it was time to take the trip over to the children’s hospital, I stood up and lost consciousness in the bathroom. I didn’t tell my nurse when I came to because I didn’t want to wait any longer to see my baby. I remember standing over my daughters isolette thinking I was having an out of body experience. How can she survive coming this early? What are all these tubes and wires? Why does my stomach hurt so bad? One thing I knew for sure was that I loved her so much.
The next week was spent pumping, visiting the NICU, and trying to keep my vitals and blood work stable. I needed to get out of this hospital. Once she was out of me I didn’t want to be admitted. I needed to be by her side at all times.
Once I was allowed to go home I felt so torn. I was happy to get out of the hospital alive but I was leaving half of my heart there. Nobody expects to leave empty handed after giving birth. After fighting for our lives, it was our daughters turn to fight for hers. She would be faced with countless setbacks and obstacles during her 113 day NICU stay. We were there everyday watching her fight for her life. High frequency oscillating ventilator support, PICC line, endless IVs, blood transfusions, infections, heart surgery, retinopathy of prematurity, procedures, countless X-rays, feeding issues are just some of the things she had to overcome. When she came home it was like our family was complete. It wasn’t just our sweet baby that came home with us but oxygen tanks, monitor, feeding tube, and a whole lot of anxiety. All that baggage was heavy but it meant we could have her home we embraced it.
The Aftermath
Fast forward almost two years since she was born and I still struggle deeply with depression and anxiety. This trauma lives with me daily. I am reminded of it from an alarm going off or the smell of Palmolive dish soap. I blame myself for not remembering some of the biggest moments but I’m working towards healing.
About me
My name is Debbie, mom of two girls, (one on earth and one in heaven) wife, and I enjoy painting/crafting/drawing!
